


Harry Potter and the Sword of Gryffindor

by BrailleErin



Series: BrailleErin Blind Harry Potter fics [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Blind Character, Blind!Harry Potter, Blindness, Color Blindness, Gryffindor, Hogwarts, Number Four Privet Drive (Harry Potter), O&M, Quidditch, Werewolves, white cane
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-12
Updated: 2020-06-13
Packaged: 2020-12-13 21:20:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 36
Words: 74,249
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21004346
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BrailleErin/pseuds/BrailleErin
Summary: When some of the Death Eaters capture Harry, their curses go awry and instead of killing Harry they blind him. How is he going to return to Hogwarts and ultimately fight the Dark Lord? He'll have to find a new strength and cunning he didn't know he had.Posted to ffnet originally in December 2010.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to the other authors who have written blind!harry fanfics, especially Katling with Harry Potter and the Guild of the Night, xyvortex/Taylor1991 with Blind Faith and pottermalfoy24 with As a Bat. I love all of them but I really wanted to take a stab at it myself. And although I hate to beg for reviews, I am going to do just that. Please, please review and tell me what you like (or didn't like) and let me know if you want more. Seriously, it is the only thing that gets me through to "complete" because most of the stuff written and stored on my hard drive is half finished and abandoned!  
Another thing: I'm really bad with bothering to go back and check details of the canon. So if I mix something up, I don't mind if you point it out but I may not go back and fix it. I try to get close, but this is going to be pretty much AU from the beginning anyway so I don't see why I should bother. This story begins in Harry's Third Year and shadows the events in PoA, but things obviously veer into AU pretty quickly, so who knows what might happen!  
Here goes then… Harry Potter and all related characters do not belong to me nor have I made any money off using them. Thanks to Rowling for her creativity and terrific characters with which to play.  
Edited to add: A huge shout of thanks goes out to Nanchih for pointing out an oversight I made about the British medical system. I have corrected it in this recent update. Also, thanks to KevStanley for pointing out that Brits don't call it a sidewalk. Since I try very hard to keep the story on the correct side of the pond, I appreciate the catch. Thanks!

Sitting on the bed in the smallest bedroom of Number 4, Privet Drive, Harry Potter held the Hogwarts letter in his hands. His hands shook a little as he squeezed the parchment tighter, the green writing almost sparkling in his imagination. Hedwig settled herself on the perch in her cage after seeing the school owl off again. She looked anxiously at Harry, seated on the edge of his bed, his dark head bent, the letter crushed in his hands. He did not stir or acknowledge the soft hoot she sent in his direction. She wondered what he was thinking.

He was thinking about Hogwarts. In his mind, he was wandering its halls, taking in the rough stone walls, hearing the grinding snap as one of the moving staircases shuffled into place. He was letting his gaze wander over the portraits lining the walls, their occupants craning their necks to peer down at him, their gilt frames soft with dust and trailing filmy cobwebs. In his mind he heard the slap of his trainers echoing along the chilly, dark passages, lit only with torches late at night. He pictured long corridors fading into darkness away from him, of rooms with gothic arches, of rugs patterned in antique oriental bronzes. He willed himself to remember every detail, forced himself to see the bronzed door handles, the leaded diamond glass panes. He pictured rows of students with tall black hats sitting in uneven rows along the house tables at dinner in the Great Hall. He visualised the gold and green and red and blue of the house banners. His mind drifted to twelve Christmas trees sifted with a magical mantle of silver. Stars lit the ceiling of the Great Hall.

Something like a sharp knife twisted somewhere deep in Harry's stomach. How he missed Hogwarts. Yet in twelve days when he went there again, everything would be different. He was different.

He sat up, facing Hedwig and opened his eyes. The room swam in blurry haziness away from his ruined vision. Even Hedwig was an indistinct light spot in contrast with the dark wood of his closet doors. There was no colour, no form, no depth. Light intermingled with dark and tricked him, fooling him into thinking there was something there when his reaching hand gripped only air.

Blind. The Muggle doctor used that word and Harry had flinched. Didn't blind mean black? Didn't it mean a white cane and a tin cup? How could he be blind when he could open his eyes and light flooded in? Too much light, in fact. The least amount of light shot into his eyes like a shard, making him gasp and squint. He'd soon discovered that light was his enemy and to fight it mean to gain a throbbing headache.

As if Harry didn't have enough to deal with, now his eyes didn't work properly. He couldn't quite grasp that word. That word the eye doctor had used so effortlessly. Blind.

How had it happened again? Harry closed his eyes again, trying to remember, trying to forget. Why had he taken that street again? Oh yes, Dudley had been screaming. They had been walking in London, shopping. They had passed shops with glass windows, cafes with iron chairs and tables in front of them and a red awning. They'd walked in a group along the pavement, the three Dursleys and Harry. Aunt Petunia had talked delightedly about the new school uniform for her precious little Dudderkins, whose burgeoning body quickly filled out one after another of his fitted Smeltings jackets. Uncle Vernon had only grunted his answers at her, wrapped up in a newspaper that announced the latest sports scores, reading even while he walked. Dudley, as usual, had howled at them both, demanding ice cream and insisting they stop walking and go to the nearest ice cream parlour. His vocal wails had drawn the curious stares from every passerby and Harry'd cringed, wishing himself a million miles away. Actually, to be more accurate, he had wished a hole would open up in the street and swallow him.

Sitting on his bed now in Privet Drive, he thought it odd, looking back on it, that he'd wished for that particular thing to happen, for at that precise moment, it had. He'd merely stepped sideways into a narrow alley and as he did so the street opened a nice, tidy hole and swallowed him, so quickly he did not have even the time to cry out.

He'd tumbled in to a dark place, disoriented and afraid. Briefly, he'd wondered if someone had apparated him or if there was some kind of hidden portkey in that tiny alley. Perhaps he'd imagined the hole in the pavement. Perhaps not. He had not imagined the fear. Even now, weeks later, he could still taste it in his mouth, sharp and acidic.

He'd sat in the dark place, sprawled awkwardly, wanting to huddle up, waiting for something to come out of the dark and hit him. The floor had been cold and very, very hard. He'd drawn his wand, heart hammering against the back of his ribs.

Something did come out of the dark. He heard the spell just seconds before he saw the flash of green light. So that was it. He'd stepped just far enough away from the Dursleys, taken himself away from the protection of blood and They had been waiting. Their timing had been perfect, their plan brilliantly executed. They would go back later and gloat to one another on their prowess. They would be rewarded handsomely by their disembodied Master, they would tell one another.

The second that existed in time between Harry hearing the spell cast and seeing the green light was about the same length of time it took to see a Bludger coming and duck. He ducked now, his Quidditch reflexes coming to his rescue. At the same time he flung a desperate  _ Protego _ spell out of his wand and toward the source of the green light. The green light surrounded him, crackling in his hair and all around his face. He could feel it like static against his skin. Maybe the shield spell was too weak. But he was not dead. He was very much alive and sweating fiercely. Pain and flashes of light burned in his eyes.

He heard a loud  _ Crack _ ! Something small and soft crept close to him in the darkness and took his hand. He felt a small, soft, childlike hand in his but had no time to wonder whether it was a good hand or a bad hand when he was back again on the street with the Dursleys, only the light stabbed his eyes, the colour had gone and there were no edges. Shapes softly melded into one another in watercolour abandon. Harry thought he heard a chuckling voice congratulating itself for "rescuing Harry Potter, Dobby's so quick" but a second loud  _ Crack _ left him alone on the street next to a whining Dudley who hadn't noticed Harry was gone. The whole disorienting experience had taken less than ten seconds.

Needless to say, Harry had panicked.

Aunt Petunia and Dudley couldn't seem to understand why Harry suddenly went berserk in the middle of the busy London street. Uncle Vernon bustled him aside, telling him to get a hold of himself or he'd be sorry. No one believed Harry who could only press his palms against his eyes and forehead in agony. At last he'd managed to convince them that he wasn't lying and that something had happened to his eyes. When they asked what it was, Harry fumbled for an explanation. Luckily for him at that point he'd fainted.

Still sitting on the bed in his room, remembering, Harry shook his head to clear it. He tried to banish the memories of the Muggle hospital, the doctors who spoke in hushed voices with Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia, tossing out words like "appears that the cones in the retina are affected" and "we'll need to run more tests."

They had certainly run tests. They had squeezed stinging drops into his eyes. They had shone bright lights on him while Harry gasped in anguish, struggling against the tears that refused to stop coming. They had asked endless questions, showing him cards with letters and cards with circles. They'd had him sort tiles into rows and held up an endless succession of glass lenses, none of which sharpened the blurry mist which hung around him like a freezing fog of fear. They had questioned him over and over as to what had happened, while he squirmed and tried to think of something to tell them that did not sound insane.

At last they released Harry to go home, handing him a card with a phone number he couldn't read for the Royal National Institute of the Blind. He'd dropped it on the street before he even reached the car.

Now, three weeks later he sat here, grimly, on his bed, his parchment Hogwarts letter clutched in his hand. Part of him longed for the familiarity and comfort of school. To be away from the Dursleys and the self-imposed imprisonment in the smallest bedroom would be heavenly. To once again be with his friends, to be home again in the ancient magical castle, to be in a world where he belonged…

But would his other world accept him? How would he read his assignments now that he could hardly see? It might have been his imagination but the blurry world seemed even less distinct than it had been, as if twilight was slowly fading down upon him, relentlessly, day after day. He longed for the sharp lines and brilliant colour of his memories. Instead, it seemed that a dark hand slowly clamped down on him, taking its time to smother him completely.

Harry sat up and shook his head again.

He couldn't stay here. He'd go mad in this cell of a room. He was going back to Hogwarts and he was going to succeed… in spite of slowly going blind.


	2. Chapter 2

Harry stood uncertainly on the platform of King's Cross station, one hand resting on the handle of his trolley and the other stuffed deeply into the pockets of his jeans. Behind him on the trolley, he could hear Hedwig hooting her indignation at being caged and subjected to the hubbub in King's Cross but he ignored her. Dim crowds of people jostled Harry as he stood frowning, wondering if he could find his destination or if he should ask for help and if so, where to ask.

This was the third time Harry headed for Platform 9 ¾ but the previous two years he'd been able to read the signs. He felt much as he did his first year when Uncle Vernon left him stranded here in the same spot and driven gleefully away. This time, knowing full well Harry could hardly see, Uncle Vernon had done the exact same thing, muttering something about "being late for Dudley's fitting."

Harry looked around. The trains looked like long, grey shadows, looming fearfully near him and smelling rankly of diesel. Instead of individuals, the people around him now became a dizzying mass of movement and noise. The whole place echoed terrifyingly loudly in Harry's ears, as if the less his eyes took in the more his ears heard until the screech of wheels, the shuffle of feet, the shouts and clamour and clashing doors all blended into a cacophony of indistinct sounds like the pounding of surf. Overhead lights and the sunlight coming in the ends of the building ripped through Harry's head with slashes of pain. He wanted to crouch, to claw at his face, to run, to hide.

The people pushing past him finally thinned, fewer doors crashed shut and the nearest train pulled out from the station with a clank and a groan. Harry drew a breath as if the train was a monster he had only just escaped.

"Oy! Harry!" A familiar voice came out of the haze close to Harry and he jumped, his left hand gripping the trolley handle harder.

"Ron," he said eagerly, relief dripping through him. He focused on the blur quickly approaching in front of him, hoping desperately he had picked the right person and that he wasn't staring at some random stranger.

"You ok, Mate?" Ron's voice held concern. "You look like you swallowed a Bertie Botts earwax."

"Err, yeah, let's just get on the train. We can talk there," Harry replied, realising he hadn't thought of what to tell his friends.

"Right. Mum! Ginny, over here. Harry's here!" Ron's voice called across the echoing room and Harry flinched.

Mrs. Weasley bustled up to them, engulfing Harry in her warm hug and shooing them along the platform. Harry hung back until Ron took the lead and Harry followed Ron's trolley, partly by the dark shape and partly by the squeaking wheel. Ron trotted down the platform until he chose one of the large, shadowy brick pillars. He took a run at it, Harry close behind.

As Harry emerged onto the sunlit Platform 9 ¾ his eyes involuntarily closed against the brilliant pain. As soon as he did so, his shins struck something solid and he staggered onto his knees, falling forward onto Ron's trolley and draping himself awkwardly across Ron's trunk. His breath left him in a whoosh and for a moment he felt tempted to stay there, on his face on Ron's trunk. Snickers and guffaws bloomed around him on all sides as Harry's face reddened. He pushed himself backwards onto his feet again, squinting, habitually scooting his glasses back up his nose. He'd debated whether to wear the glasses or not, but decided that wearing them might give him an ounce better vision as well as attracting less attention.

They did nothing to block the light that seemed a thousand times too bright. Even the train and the people looked washed out in the white glare. He wondered why his eyes weren't adjusting and closed them again for a moment, taking a long, steadying breath.

"You might want to walk around with your eyes open, you know," Hermione said at his elbow.

"Hi Hermione," Ron said, a touch too enthusiastically.

"Hi Hermione," Harry echoed a little flatly.

"You ok, Harry?" she asked worriedly.

"Yeah," Harry said shortly, "can we just get on the train, please?"

Ron dithered about saying goodbye to his Mum while Hermione picked up Hedwig's cage and the basket containing her cat. It seemed like years before they finally headed for the chuffing, whistling train.

He followed Ron and Hermione just a bit too closely, eager for the relative darkness of the train cars and to be away from the chattering, whistling, laughing crowd. Not a face in it was visible to Harry and the pounding in his head made the noise unbearable. He tripped again over the steps onto the train but once inside he could open his eyes and see the dim grey corridor.

As they passed a door he heard Draco's drawling voice. "What's the matter, Potter? Did you forget how to walk over the summer?" Jeers accompanied this statement and Harry assumed Pansy, Crabbe and Goyle sat in the compartment with Malfoy. For once, Harry didn't have the energy for a comeback, but he made a mental note to retaliate later or he knew he'd regret it.

"I can't find an empty compartment," Ron complained as they neared the end of the coach.

"Just come in here," Hermione said and Harry followed her in, throwing himself on the seat and burying his eyes in the heels of his hands. Pinwheels of green and purple pain burst into view.

Ron came in behind and closed the door. Silence descended as he sat and Harry braced himself, waiting for the questions. The one that came was not one he expected.

"Who's that?" Ron half-whispered.

Harry looked up, startled. Sitting next to Ron on the bench across from Harry was a blurry, shadowed form of a person, huddled sideways onto the wall of the car, unmoving.

"Shhh," Hermione said, raising her arm to point.

She and Ron looked at the blackness that was the overhead compartment and Ron whispered, "Remus Lupin."

"He must be the new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher," said Hermione in an undertone.

Harry looked again at the shadowy form, assuming from the way his friends talked that Professor Lupin was sleeping. Then Hermione rounded on him.

"Harry, what was wrong with you out there?" she asked.

Harry sighed. "Err, I don't know for sure," he started, "but there's something wrong with my eyes."

"Something wrong with your eyes?" Ron echoed in a confused tone.

"What do you mean, wrong?" asked Hermione at the same moment.

"I dunno, just wrong. I can't see properly. Everything's all flickery and grey and lights really hurt," Harry said lamely.

"But that's awful. You should be in hospital, not here on the train," said Hermione fiercely.

"I was. They don't know what it is," said Harry glumly.

"Bloody hell," said Ron sympathetically.

"But what happened? Did it just start?" Hermione said with the air of someone beginning a cross-examination.

Harry told them as briefly as he could about the hole in the street, the dark place, the green light and Dobby's rescue. As he did, he thought miserably of the colours on the street, the red of an awning right before he stepped into the alley. His head throbbed.

"But that's awful!" exclaimed Hermione. "We need to get you to St. Mungo's right away. Maybe they can cure you."

Hope leapt in Harry. Yes, perhaps the medi-witches and wizards at St. Mungos would charm his eyes into functioning again. The colours would return, the blurry haze would leave and the light would return to its normal level of brightness. At the same time, the memory of the recent visit to the Muggle hospital came back to him and he cringed.

"As soon as we get to Hogwarts, we'll ask Professor McGonagall. Maybe they'll take you to Madame Pomfrey in the hospital wing."

"Madame Pomfrey wouldn't be too bad. I'm sure she's as good as the medi-witches at St. Mungo's," Harry replied.

"Sure she is," Ron said stoutly, "only the best for Hogwarts."

Harry discovered that the Hogwarts Express had begun moving while they were talking. Now it rocked and swayed to its own rhythm. Harry could barely see the landscape flowing past the window and the blurry grey shapes made him feel rather queasy. He leaned his head back on the seat and closed his eyes. To his surprise, Hermione seemed to read his mind, because she leaned over and pulled the curtain over the window.

With the absence of daylight in the car, Harry found he could open his eyes with less pain and he sat up, just as the little witch with the snack trolley came to their door. Wordlessly, Harry handed Ron some coins and Ron joyfully bought some of everything from the supply.

Because Professor Lupin still snored next to Ron, they tried to be quiet, but when Harry opened a chocolate frog and immediately lost sight of it hopping away, Hermione exploded into helpless giggles. At first Harry thought she was being a bit insensitive, but he suddenly realised that she wasn't treating him strangely as he'd expected and he relaxed, muffling his laughter with one hand.

For the first time in weeks, Harry had the feeling that everything would be okay. Madame Pomfrey would give him some sort of healing potion and he'd resume his classes as usual. He was so happy to be with his friends again, on the Hogwarts Express, whose wheels with every turn put distance between him and the Dursleys and brought him closer to Hogwarts and home.

His happy feelings did not last long. An inexplicable chill filled the air. The train slowed…


	3. Chapter 3

An inexplicable chill filled the air. The train slowed, then ground to a halt. Outside the window, dusk had fallen and the compartment where Harry and his friends sat had slowly filled with a tangible darkness, as if with smoke. The air grew colder. Harry shivered.

"Why are we stopping?" Hermione wondered aloud. "We aren't anywhere near Hogwarts."

Harry and Ron sat silent, not bothering to answer.

A chill that had nothing to do with the darkness crawling up Harry's spine. He sat, still and rigid on the bench seat next to Ron, wondering if the swirling darkness before him existed only in his own eyes or if the world for Ron and Hermione was fading to black as well. He did not ask them. He did not want to hear their answers. He stared into the gathering gloom, his hands clutching the front edge of the seat on either side of his knees.

"Bloody Hell," said Ron slowly, stretching out the words like sticky chewing gum.

"What is it?" Harry asked.

"Dementors," said Ron, "but what are they doing so far from Azkaban?"

"What's a dementor?" asked Harry.

"Blimey," answered Ron in his usual careless way that made Harry squirm. "You don't know what a dementor is?"

"I read about them," put in Hermione helpfully, "they guard the wizard's prison, Azkaban. They suck all of the joy out of people." Harry wondered what such a monster could possibly look like.

The air grew colder, darker. Harry felt his mind turning in on itself, as if every happy memory had become trapped in the mire of his brain and only the terrible, sad ones remained. He closed his eyes. In his mind, the darkness had somehow turned to green, a green light, a remembered flash and some mumbled words, two instances of the lightning striking him. What were the chances, he thought, of lightning striking twice?

He heard the door of their compartment open slowly, scraping over frost that had gathered somehow upon it. Distantly he heard Hermione screaming. The green light seemed somehow to engulf him. Why can't I see? His mind churned the question over and over, a whirlpool of anguished thought. See, see, see, see…. The words echoed in his mind.

Harry felt the fear like a cold wave of ocean water washing over his brain. His senses dulled, the texture of the bench fading away from his fingers, the sound of Hermione screaming growing fainter and farther away. It was as if he was falling down a deep dark well.

All at once he put out both hands and kicked out both feet against the sides of the well. He was not going to fall. He was tired of being afraid. He was tired of struggling against the Dursleys, against the terrifying gray mist. He was tired of the green light and suddenly anger blazed up in him, warm and hot and white. He did not care if he couldn't see. He was still himself. He could still think and hear and imagine and remember. He did not care if he seemed to have the worst rotten luck. There was still beauty somewhere in the world.

It was not exactly a good thought, but it was his own thought. He was not going to let fear stop him. He had not let the green light stop him. Now he was not going to let the gray blurry mist stop him either. He would get help or adapt… do whatever he had to do. Resolve hardened inside of him and he clung tenuously to the sides of the well, refusing to slip into unconsciousness. It seemed an age that he hung there.

Expecto Patronum!

Harry jumped at the authority in the voice and at the flash of silver light that penetrated even the green light in his closed eyes. The chill receded and Harry opened his eyes. Someone switched on the compartment light, making Harry wince, the usual gray mist taking the place of the green he had seen in his mind.

"Wh-what's going on?" he asked shakily.

"Here, eat this," said a kindly voice and a blurred figure crouched before Harry. He held out an uncertain hand.

He must have looked in the wrong place because Professor Lupin had a strange edge to his voice as he said, "It's chocolate. Here you go."

A foil-wrapped bar was shoved into Harry's outstretched hand and his cheeks burned with the awkward lump in the pit of his stomach. Combined with the new feeling of anger he'd recently felt, the emotion drove away the last of the chill that the dementor's coming had caused. He knew that Professor Lupin knew he could not see the bar of chocolate and embarrassment burned on his cheeks. What was Professor Lupin thinking? Would he demand an explanation? Would he arrange for Harry to be sent back home to the Dursleys again?

Out of habit, he tried to look at his hands where his fingers felt for the edges of the foil wrapper to expose the chocolate. A looming shape appeared and Ron attempted to grab the bar from his hands, muttering, "here, let me."

"No!" Harry said too sharply. "I'll do it."

The anger blazed up in him again and he held the bar away from Ron, bashing the knuckles of his right hand into the wall of the compartment in his haste. Cloth rustled, a sleeve dropped and Ron sat back into his seat, huffing to himself as he did so. For a moment a silence that felt stiflingly heavy dropped over the room. Squinting against the light that reflected off the shiny foil, Harry, at last, found the seam and ripped the foil open. He broke off a chunk of the bar and held it toward Ron as a peace offering.

They sat, all four of them, munching chocolate, not talking. Harry wondered if the others were exchanging glances he could not see.

"Harry Potter," said Professor Lupin and Harry heard a weariness in the voice that surprised him. Habit forced him to look toward the voice at the sound of his name but when he saw nothing but a still, blurry gray shape sitting on the opposite bench, he waited, listening.

The question hanging in the air did not come. Harry shifted his gaze back to the floor and took another bite of chocolate to cover his confusion and embarrassment. He debated with himself whether to explain the too-long story of his vision loss to Lupin or wait until the older man asked him.

"Dementors," muttered Lupin angrily. "On the Hogwarts Express. Bloody inept Ministry."

"Why?" asked Hermione suddenly.

"I think I know," said Ron, surprising Harry. "I saw the posters when we visited Diagon Alley for our school things, you know."

Harry waited, his heart hammering. Diagon Alley. He hadn't been there yet. He'd been unable to convince the Dursleys to take him there and no one else had thought of it. Last year's robe lay folded in his luggage and he winced to think how short it would look on him. As for books, he had no idea how he would get them, nor how he would read them when he did. Rather than feeling despair, this time he felt the white anger blaze again inside him. He would find a way. Hermione might share her books. Madame Pomfrey might be able to fix his eyes. He would find a way.

He was aware that he was missing the conversation. Emerging from his thoughts and the ball of determination that had settled into his core, he listened to the others discussing the wanted posters for a criminal, Sirius Black, wanted for murder and escaped from Azkaban. Lupin opined that the dementors had been searching for Black, as if an escaped prisoner could possibly be on a train full of students bound for Hogwarts. Lupin kept muttering comments about the ineptitude of the Ministry, furious that the train should have been so waylaid.

At some point without their notice, the train had begun to move again and Harry quietly felt on the wall next to him for the light switch, plunging the compartment again into dusky shadow. He let a slow pent-up breath of relief as the searing pain eased and he sat back into the rough cloth bench. He felt another questioning silence again fill the room and he shifted in his seat.

"The light hurts," he explained lamely.

"Did something happen to your eyes?" asked Professor Lupin quietly, as if Harry's words had opened a door inviting him into the subject that had previously been closed. Harry nodded uncomfortably, not wanting to rehash the story again that he'd just told Hermione, one that he hadn't wanted to tell at all.

But Professor Lupin did not question further, merely sitting back against his seat and folding his arms with a rustle of his robes and coat. The rest of the ride to Hogwarts passed quietly. Professor Lupin did not return to his nap and the three, Ron, Harry and Hermione, did not feel comfortable with their easy conversation in front of him. As the dark of night overtook them completely, Hermione was the first to begin changing into her school robes, Harry and Ron following shortly, both fumbling in the dark and taking three times as long as they should have.

The train pulled to a stop at the small platform of Hogsmeade station. As usual, the carriages waited, their lanterns like white-hot stars to Harry. Brushing past him on the crowded platform, Professor Lupin said in an undertone to Harry, "We'll talk later, yes?" Harry jumped and did not answer, an eerie prickle running up his spine.

In the dark, the blurred shapes around Harry held more detail and more contrast than they had when the torture of daylight washed them out with a searing glare. He found himself able to follow Ron down the steps of the platform and into a waiting carriage without tripping or falling and he sat forward on the seat as the carriage rolled forward wishing suddenly that he could catch the beloved first glimpse of the castle. 

Disappointment bit at him when he realized that it would remain hidden from him, that all he would get was a tangled garden of blurred-out lights blooming from the windows, but no shape of wall or tower. He sat back again with a frustrated sigh, choosing instead to form the image in his imagination, gleaned from details stored in his memory. He found it sufficient, to his surprise, and enjoyed the sight in his inner eye of the dark towers etched against an inky sky.


	4. Chapter 4

"Having a little eyesight trouble, Potter?"

The sneering voice was unmistakable. Draco. How did that little worm find out, anyway?

"You're going to have a jolly time when Sirius Black finds you and you can't even see."

Draco's voice came quietly but distinctly from several rows away in the throng of students pressing through the entrance hall and toward the feast. Jostled by people, Harry let the crowd carry him along in its wake, using its mass of directionless purpose to guide him through doorways he couldn't really make out. He looked toward Draco, but could not tell which of the shadowy bodies belonged to the voice and knew that each time he looked in the wrong place he gave himself away even further.

In his imagination the students between him and Draco, caught in the flux of words hurled at him, would be looking at him strangely, testing him, wondering if Draco's words were true. He frowned and looked stonily straight ahead, muttering a "shut up, Draco," as if that would solve the situation.

Good old Draco. He could always be relied upon to say something idiotic. But this time he was right and Harry's blood froze at the thought of the escaped prisoner coming here to the castle, searching for him, finding him, coming out of the blurry gray shadows, another shadow himself, eerily indistinguishable from Harry's friends and teachers. But why would Black come after him?

Draco, once he'd taken his opening shots, said no more, apparently distracted by entering the Great Hall and intent on finding the best seat he could among the pushing, shouting Slytherins.

Harry himself, upon entering the Great Hall, the lights from a thousand candles slicing into his tired eyes, discovered that he had no idea where Ron and Hermione were, had no idea which of the long blurred tables belonged to Gryffindor. He glanced around the hall, looking desperately for familiar landmarks, for the colors of the house banners, for the enchanted ceiling covered with stars. No color met him. It wasn't as if he were watching a black-and-white movie; rather it seemed as if color itself had never existed and all he had left was a vague contrast between light and dark things, the dark ones looking indistinct and blurred, the light ones washed out by the attack of painfully glaring light. He slowed, then stopped, completely lost among the hordes of faceless, nameless people and disoriented by the echoing din.

"You ok, Harry?" Hermione's voice at his elbow made him jump and relief flooded through him. He reached out for her, finding her school robes and her shoulder, but then he drew back, embarrassed at invading her space, at touching when a touch wasn't expected or welcomed.

"Err, well, I'm not sure which table is ours," he said, his face growing hot.

"Oh, it's this one," said Hermione flatly, grasping his arm and pushing him toward the dark mass of seated students. He felt frightened and vulnerable being shunted out in front of her like that and wished she had led the way instead, but his relief at finding himself in a seat at the table outweighed his annoyance.

He'd barely found his seat when Dumbledore cleared his throat and the Hall quieted.

"Welcome once again to another term. I have a few short notices before we begin our feast. As you may remember the Forbidden Forest is still off-limits to students. Mr. Filch has an ever-lengthening list of banned items on the door of his office and you would do well to read it.

"And now, I have a rather important announcement." With these words, the underlying buzz of whispers and snickers subsided.

"The Ministry of Magic has determined that until the escaped prisoner, Sirius Black, is recaptured, there will be stationed dementors around Hogwarts Castle to protect and guard its students and staff." Dumbledore's voice held a trace of derision, or perhaps Harry imagined it.

"I have requested that they stay outside the edges of the grounds as they tend to be somewhat, ahem, disruptive, but I would request that students do not roam the grounds without permission, as the dementors are not, shall we say, very pleasant? That is all, thank you."

The Great Hall flooded with a fresh wave of chatter as the students discussed this last unexpected announcement. Harry felt his heart sink as he thought about the unseen, terrifying, cold thing on the train and how close he'd come to falling into the well of unconsciousness. Only his blindness and the anger it caused in him, he realized, had kept him from falling.

He hardly heard Professor McGonagall bustling in with the crop of frightened firsties and the too-long sorting ceremony. Wrapped in his thoughts, he completely missed the Sorting Hat's song and he jumped when Dumbledore clapped his hands. "Let the feast begin!"

Harry pulled out of his reverie to the smell of the magical feast appearing on the long table in front of him. His stomach grumbled in answer and he happily picked up the nearest dish of food. Unsure what it contained, he put a spoonful on his plate anyway and passed it along to Hermione next to him. Several other unknown items found their way to his plate in this way and he began to eat, surprised that what had looked like potatoes was actually a currant pudding. Too hungry to care, he ate everything on his plate.

"When are you going to go see Madame Pomfrey?" asked Hermione, around a mouthful of something.

"Err, well, I hadn't thought…" Harry began, but Hermione interrupted him.

"You ought to go up there right away, you know," she said.

"Well, I'm not exactly sure I should, not yet, anyway" Harry admitted quietly.

"Of course you can go see her. This is important, Harry. She can probably fix your eyes. I mean how would you do your classes if you don't?" Hermione queried.

"Err, that's not exactly what I meant. I mean, of course, I need to go see her. It's just that…" Harry stumbled over his words and filled his mouth with a bite of something that turned out to be asparagus to cover his embarrassment. He grimaced as he chewed the vegetable.

"What do you mean?" Hermione asked, bewildered.

"I mean, I'm not sure how to get up there," Harry finally admitted, taking a drink of pumpkin juice to wash down the asparagus.

"Oh," Hermione said as if that hadn't occurred to her.

"I mean, I've been there lots, but…" Harry couldn't think of a way to explain so he let his words trail off and took another bite, this time of Yorkshire pudding.

"Err, I could… go up with you," Hermione said awkwardly, unused to offering such help and unsure how Harry would receive it.

"No, you know, I think I'd rather just go myself. You can send a search party if I don't come back to the tower tonight," Harry joked lamely.

Hermione did not answer and Harry couldn't tell if she was offended or relieved. He sat glumly, eating the Yorkshire pudding and wishing he'd taken more of it and less of the asparagus. Hermione did not say anything further during dessert. Harry remained quiet too, listening to the voices around him, wondering where Ron had got to and whether any of the nearby shapes belong to Dean, Seamus, or Neville. He felt lost and alone, a feeling he would have much preferred to shake off and join in the excited banter around him.

At last the interminable feast ended, Dumbledore dismissed them and the students began wandering towards their dormitories, the newly appointed Prefects herding uncertain first-years like so many frightened sheep. Harry mingled with the crowd up the main stairs, but headed off down another corridor as the Gryffindors ran chattering up the moving staircase toward Gryffindor Tower.

Harry felt very small as he wandered down corridor after corridor, up staircase after staircase, feeling for their blurry edges with his toe and clinging to the railing, terrified of falling. One staircase opened up a yawning mouth in front of him without warning and he stepped into oblivion before he realized it was there. Adrenaline surged through him and he flailed for the railing before regaining his balance. He stood there on the second step, breathing hard, willing his heart to stop its wild drumming against his ribs.

Whispers seemed to come from the shadowy halls and rise around him from railings that fenced him off from the yawning chasms below. If they were ghosts, he could not see them, only feel the chilly moth-like currents in the air. Flickering torches send shadows dancing around him, each one looming like a physical obstacle. He hesitated at a turn where two corridors joined, uncertain of the way he should go. He turned to his right and kept going, trailing one finger along the rough stones of the wall, more for the mental feeling of being grounded than for guidance. Portraits sometimes spoke unexpectedly out of the gloom, startling him, asking him what he was doing or where he was going.

The castle had usually seemed friendly before now. Last year even the whispered Parseltongue words coming from the Chamber of secrets had not seemed as ominous as the half-seen shadows he faced now.

Out of the dimness, he heard a low growl.

The hairs on the back of Harry's neck prickled and he froze. With all his concentration he peered ahead of him but all he saw was the empty corridor receding in front of him like an unending tunnel. One of the torches nearest him on the wall shivered wildly, sending shadows dancing around him like maniacal marionettes. He listened hard but heard nothing. He took a tentative step forward.

Another growl sounded in front of him, close, but not too close. He froze again, straining to see. This time he could very nearly make out a shadow, barely darker than the other shadows, holding still while the other shadows jerked and hovered. It crouched and from it the low, almost purring growl came softly, crawling toward Harry.

Harry stood rooted to the flagstone floor, terror racing along every nerve. The time counted itself in heartbeats. He stared at the still, quiet shadow, the growling shadow that blocked his way. Harry realized he had no idea where he was or where he had been going. He began to back away from the low, black shape, his right hand still tracing the wall behind him, his eyes glued on the blur that seemed to growl even more menacingly.

Harry turned and fled. He ran down the corridor, pushing his way through the dancing shadows, past grim closed doorways, around corners and stumbled up another half-invisible set of stairs. He flung his way recklessly along another hall when suddenly he ran smack into a wall of unmovable black cloth.

"P-p-professor Snape," gasped Harry, not sure how he knew that's who it was but certain just the same. He could picture the expression on Professor Snape's face, half surprise, half sneer, so clearly it was as if he was actually seeing it.

"Potter." The voice matched the expression exactly. "What are you doing tearing around the castle in such a manner? Starting your shenanigans a little early this year?" Once again, Harry's mind held a forceful picture of the curling lip, the raised eyebrow.

In spite of his intense dislike for Snape, Harry almost collapsed with relief.

"Oh, it's you, sir," he said, flustered. "I was on my way to the hospital wing."

"Indeed," said Snape with a sneer. "In this part of the castle?"

"I, err, got a bit lost," Harry admitted foolishly, taking a step backward.

"A bit lost?" Snape asked sardonically, and with good reason. He of all people knew how familiar Harry was with the ins and outs of the castle.

"Err, yes, sir. I'll just be going, then," said Harry, turning again.

"Potter," said Snape sharply.

"Yes, sir?" Harry asked, turning meekly.

"The hospital wing is this way," said Snape, his voice holding both a note of derision and, was it amusement? Condescension?

"Yes, sir," said Harry, knowing Snape suspected that Harry was up to some mischief. Harry didn't know if it was preferable to let him continue to think so, but he decided not to try and explain. He suddenly felt weary, old and tired. He just wanted to find the hospital wing and collapse into one of the stark, white beds and let Madame Pomfrey bustle around him and make everything all right.

"How about I accompany you to the hospital wing so you don't continue to lose your way?" asked Snape, his sarcasm deepening.

"Oh, would you?" Harry said with relief, realizing too late that his reply would certainly come across as sarcastic back to the Professor who surely would not appreciate the disrespect.

"I would be delighted," purred Snape, turning on his heel, his black robes swishing ominously. He led the way swiftly down the corridor, Harry trotting behind him, trying desperately to keep up but not to get too close or step on the hem of the dark cloak swaying in front of him. He knew he and Snape were off to a terrible start, just what he needed right now.

As he followed the tall, black cloak down the hallway, he did not see a slinking, dark shadow, just slightly darker than the other shadows, slipping away into the quiet corridor.


	5. Chapter 5

Professor Snape stopped before the tall black wood doors of the hospital wing.

"I trust you can find your way inside, Potter?" he asked in his usual condescending tone. He did not ask why Harry wanted to go to the hospital wing and Harry assumed it was because Snape suspected him of lying about his intentions in the first place. But Harry had not been lying and he gratefully leaned against the frowning doors with a tired sigh.

"Yes," he said and though he did not see it, Snape gave him a sharp look.

He pushed open the door and stepped inside, the hush surrounding him like a soft blanket. The heavy doors closed on Snape, much to Harry's relief. Madame Pomfrey bustled out of nowhere with a rustle of starched white robes.

"What can I do for you?" she asked brightly.

Harry began explaining to her that his eyes weren't working properly, when she interrupted him.

"Come on," she said, pulling him by the arm. "I can see you're a bit knackered. Come sit down while we talk and we'll get you sorted right out."

Harry breathed a long sigh and allowed her to lead him to a chair next to a white bed where he slumped disconsolately and went on with his story.

"So they hit me with a curse and a green light…" he recounted and she gasped.

"They were Death Eaters then? Bad business that. You're lucky to be in one piece, Ducky." She clucked and tutted like a mother hen.

"Yes, I know," Harry said with a shudder. "I tried to throw up a shield charm but I must not have been fast enough because the curse hit me in the face."

"Oh dear, worse and worse. When exactly did this happen?"

"In July, I think. Quite a few weeks ago. Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon took me to a Muggle hospital, I think because a crowd had gathered and they were afraid someone might think they were neglectful if they didn't." Harry hadn't meant to paint his relatives in such an awkward light, but it slipped out before he could catch himself. Madame Pomfrey's thoughts had followed a different line, however.

"How did you escape the Death Eaters?" Her voice held a trace of surprise.

"Oh," Harry realized he had skipped an important part of his story. "Oh, I think Dobby rescued me. Although how he knew I was in danger I have no idea."

"Dobby?" Madame Pomfrey asked.

"A house elf," Harry began.

She asked in surprise, "A house elf rescued you? Was it your house elf?"

"He is not mine. He is a free elf who happens to be a friend of mine," said Harry somewhat stiffly, sounding like Hermione.

"Go on," said Madame Pomfrey, not seeming to notice Harry's tone.

"Well, after Dobby rescued me, my Aunt and Uncle took me to a Muggle hospital. They ran all sorts of tests but couldn't figure out what was wrong with my eyes and finally, well, Uncle Vernon…" Harry trailed off, unsure how to cast Uncle Vernon in anything but an unflattering light.

"And this was nearly six weeks ago?" asked Madame Pomfrey incredulously. "Oh dear. Very bad, this."

She asked Harry in a very gentle tone to lie on the bed, which he did after kicking off his shoes. Her tone made his skin crawl and her tut-tutting worried him. He lay still on the bed with his eyes closed while she waved her wand muttering various spells over him and saying things like "dear, dear" in an undertone while Harry's stomach did somersaults.

"Open your eyes, please," she said, her tone just a little too bright, and he obeyed, squinting against the light the emanated from the tip of her wand. "Does the light hurt your eyes?" she asked.

Harry nodded and she shook her head gravely.

"Tell me what you see," she instructed. Harry described as best he could.

"Nothing has any color," he began. "Everything is sort of, well, blurry, like when I don't have my glasses, only much worse. And it looks, err, misty."

"Misty…" she said, as if to herself. She asked him several more questions, which he answered to the best of his ability. He hadn't been able to make out even the large E on the Snellen eye chart at the Muggle hospital and had ignored the doctor's talk of "well beyond 6/60" and "legally blind." Madame Pomfrey's diagnostic approach differed somewhat, but her conclusions were the same. Harry could barely see.

"What you need right now, my lad," she said abruptly, "is sleep. We shall discuss this tomorrow."

"But you can fix it, right?" Harry asked hopefully. "There's a charm or a spell, right? A potion, maybe? Like Skele-gro for eyes."

"We'll discuss it all tomorrow," said Madame Pomfrey firmly. "Drink this, there's a good lad."

Harry frowned and obediently drank the potion she offered him. It was not long before he felt his exhausted eyes close and his body relax into sleep. Madame Pomfrey covered him with a blanket and sat for a long minute with her head in her hands. "Poor lamb," she said, the rose and headed toward Dumbledore's office.

[break]

Harry awoke to sunlight streaming into the hospital wing. He winced and closed his eyes again, listening to the quiet rustle of robes and a soft voice somewhere across the room. He drew in a long breath. Why hadn't Madame Pomfrey wanted to discuss his eyes last night? Why had she kept him overnight? Why hadn't she just begun casting eye-fixing charms right off?

"Oh, good, you're awake," came her cheerful voice and Harry wondered suddenly if she ever went off-duty. She seemed a fixture in the hospital wing, as if she were one of the chairs or beds. He sat up, opening his eyes, steeling himself against the painful light and gave her a tight-lipped smile.

"I've been talking with the Headmaster," she began and Harry frowned. Why had she needed to do that?

"Wait, what about my eyes? You can fix them?" Harry's words spilled out of him before he could stop them.

"That's the thing, isn't it," she began slowly. "This type of damage is well beyond my own ability to heal. I've also consulted with Madame Blythe at St. Mungo's while you slept last night. No one has seen anything like this."

"So you can't fix it?" Harry asked, swallowing down a rising tide of panic.

"Well, you see, Duck, by rights you shouldn't even be alive, not after that terrible curse actually hit you." Madame Pomfrey's voice held a note of incredulity.

"The Boy-Who-Lived-Twice," Harry muttered his hopes sinking deep into the pit of his stomach.

"We're not sure, you see, whether it was your shield charm or something else," said Madame Pomfrey, managing to infuse the words "something else" with a mysterious double entendre that made Harry squirm inside.

"So what happened to my eyes, then?" asked Harry bluntly.

"It appears, from all I can tell, that the killing curse did kill a certain part of you, a part of your eye, the cones in your retina that see color and acuity or possibly a segment in your brain, the thalamus, perhaps." Her words flew over Harry's head like a racing owl.

"What?" he finally asked.

"I'm sorry, but how you see now is how you'll see, as far as I can tell," she said with sadness in her voice.

"No!" Harry burst forth. "You're supposed to be able to fix just about anything!"

"I cannot bring life to that which has died," she said sadly and Harry had the distinct impression she was not just talking about his eyes. Thoughts of his parents flashed through his mind.

"Oh," he said like a deflated balloon. "Oh."

She patted his knee and rose creakily to her feet, promising him a breakfast tray shortly and some tea. Then she left, presumably to give him time to ponder the information. His mind swirled, refusing to come to grips with the fact that he would never again see color, never see clearly, hardly see anything. Ever.

He was not remotely excited about this fact. He wondered how someone was supposed to feel when they were just told they had gone mostly blind? Was that the right term? Mostly blind? Harry supposed he was expected to feel angry and frightened. He did feel angry. But to his surprise, he did not feel angry at his rotten luck or at his eyesight. He felt rather a sort of fierce determination. He didn't care at that moment that he couldn't see. Oh, of course later he would care. He supposed there would be moments of pathetic despair, but right now, right at that moment, he didn't care. He just wanted breakfast, then he wanted to go find his friends.

To his relief, Madame Pomfrey brought his breakfast, a hearty one of bacon and eggs, toast, marmalade and a mug of tea. Harry ate hungrily and she seemed to approve of his appetite.

"May I leave?" Harry asked when he had finished.

"We should talk about how you'll get about," she reminded him. Harry frowned. At that moment he wanted to get about in any way he could, as long as it was outside the hospital wing. Since she could not cure him, he wanted to leave and leave now. If his life was to be wading through a gray mist, then he wanted to get to it. No more beds or sleeping draughts.

"We need to formulate a plan for your classes and such." Her voice was matter-of-fact.

Harry hadn't thought quite that far ahead yet. All of his worries over the summer came flooding back. Would Professor Dumbledore even let him stay at Hogwarts? Schools at home sometimes allowed blind students to study, he knew, but at Hogwarts? He'd never heard of a blind wizard and certainly had never seen one at Hogwarts. Madame Pomfrey talked as though he would stay, and still be expected to study. Brilliant, he thought sarcastically. Would rather get out of that.

"Tell you what," she said. "I'll let you go now and we'll set up a meeting with Professors Dumbledore and McGonagall tomorrow to determine how we'll proceed."

"All right," Harry agreed.

"Now, do you need help back to your dormitory?" she queried.

Her offer startled Harry. He imagined himself being led around the castle by a student, someone like Colin Creavy, someone eager and prattling, and he shuddered.

"No, thanks," he said trying to appear confident. "I'm sure I can make it on my own."

"Well, good luck then," she said and walked away with his tray.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're curious, I'm modeling Harry's condition after a real eye disorder called Achromatopsia, although Harry sees things a little blurrier and the illusion of mist is my own invention. The extreme light sensitivity, called Photophobia, is characteristic of this disorder, as is the color blindness. Whether Harry's condition remains stable or deteriorates, well, you'll have to wait and find out…


	6. Chapter 6

Harry wasn't sure, then or ever after, how he had made it to Gryffindor tower. Somehow his head was so wrapped in thought that his feet took him automatically along the route he had traced so many times before. He got to the portrait of the Fat Lady and discovered he didn't know the new password. But of course, everyone would be down at breakfast in the Great Hall anyway.

He wandered down the corridor then waited for the moving staircase to shift for him. He made a mental note to never, ever step off this particular ledge without first checking that the stairway really was in place. He was discovering that in some lights he could see better than in others. After a good nights' sleep and with a little more ambient daylight but not any directly in his eyes, he could actually make out the stairs swinging toward him fairly clearly and listened with satisfaction as they ground into place. He descended and headed toward the Great Hall.

Upon entering, the candlelight was gone; in its place daylight streamed in the tall leaded windows, washing out the scene before him in glaring, searing light. He sighed, hesitating in the doorway. Then he headed toward the table where he and Hermione had sat last night. As he got closer, the table came a little more into focus. He dropped into the first empty seat he could find, bending his head in shame to be sitting among the wriggling first-years. At this point, it just seemed too much work to try and find his friends.

Breakfast was almost over and he'd eaten already in the hospital wing, anyway. So he sat hunched listening to Professor McGonagall trotting up and down along the table handing out class schedules.

"Potter?" she asked in her no-nonsense voice as she neared the middle of the table and the third-year students. "Where is Harry Potter?"

Harry reluctantly sat higher and raised his hand sheepishly, his cheeks growing hot.

"Oh, there you are, Potter," she said crisply, stepping toward him. Although she made no comment about his not being with his class, he could hear titters and whispers crawling up and down the table. He held out his hand toward the tall, thin blur that was Professor McGonagall and she placed the square schedule in his reaching palm. He took it silently and she moved on, calling out, "Thomas?"

After breakfast had ended and students began trickling toward their dorms or first classes, Ron and Hermione surged toward Harry.

"Where were you?" Ron demanded. "Why were you sitting with the first-years? What happened?"

Harry could neither stop the flow of questions nor get a word in edgewise, so he waited for Ron to draw breath and replied, "I was in the hospital wing."

"What did Madame Pomfrey say?" Hermione asked fearfully.

Harry stood up. "Not much," he said, moving toward the door.

"What do you mean, not much?" Hermione asked, rounding on Harry and blocking his path.

Harry stopped with a frown. "I mean not much. She can't do anything."

Hermione and Ron both gasped. "Really?" Hermione said sympathetically, while Ron remained silent.

"But why…" began Hermione but she was stopped by Professor McGonagall's voice cutting across the emptying Hall.

"Potter," she said, approaching them. "May I see you for a few moments?"

A few nearby students tittered. Harry, relieved, stepped away from Hermione. For some reason, he felt shy of his friends and hesitant to answer their questions. He wanted to talk, to tell them everything, but not here, not now.

"I'll tell you later, ok?" he flung back toward Hermione and then followed the tall form of Professor McGonagall to the head table.

"Professor Dumbledore and I would like a few minutes of your time, Potter," said Professor McGonagall.

"Yes, please," said the voice of the Headmaster from behind the head table where most of the teachers had vacated to head to their first classes. "Shall we adjourn to my office?"

Harry nodded dumbly, wondering what they would say to him. How much had Madame Pomfrey told them?

Professor McGonagall led the way briskly out the door of the Great Hall and up the Grand Staircase. To his relief, Harry found her tall frame and clacking shoes easy to follow. Dumbledore had paused for a minute to speak to another unknown, faceless person and had disappeared from Harry's sight. He concentrated on following Professor McGonagall.

She led him on a dizzying series of twists and turns and up several staircases. Although Harry had traversed this route several times in the past two years, he found himself becoming disoriented and followed closer behind Professor McGonagall to prevent himself getting lost. She stopped suddenly and he realized they had reached the stone gargoyle.

"Everlasting Gobstoppers," Professor McGonagall told it and immediately it jumped aside to reveal the winding staircase.

Somehow Harry was unsurprised that Dumbledore's voice sounded from within his office when she knocked at the door. Of course, he would be here waiting. They went in and to his great surprise and relief, Dumbledore spoke a quick word, dimming the lights and bringing the room into greater focus for Harry. Dumbledore asked them to be seated, offering Harry a lemon drop, which he declined.

Dumbledore began without preamble and somehow his matter-of-factness reassured Harry. "Madame Pomfrey informed me the nature of your eyesight damage and the story of how it came to happen. I would like to hear it directly from you, however, and Minerva has not yet heard it."

Harry was getting tired of telling the story, but he took a deep breath and as quickly as he could, sketched the details of the dark alley, the attack, and Dobby's rescue, then the Muggle hospital and finally Madame Pomfrey's words. His voice shook slightly when he told how she had given him no hope for a cure and he struggled to sound grown-up and nonchalant about the whole thing.

Professors Dumbledore and McGonagall listened without interruption as Harry told his tale. When he was done he sat miserably in silence. He imagined the two professors were exchanging glances but he couldn't make out their faces, so he simply sat and waited.

At last, Dumbledore asked a question. "Were you able to recognize the people who attacked you?"

Harry had been thinking about getting sent back home to Privet Drive, so it took him a minute to register the question. "Err, no, not really. It was so dark."

"And you say a hole opened in the alley and you fell?" asked Professor Dumbledore.

"Yes, that is what if seemed like. It all happened so fast." Harry frowned as he tried to recall the fright he'd felt as he'd plunged into the dark.

"Thank you, Mr. Potter," said Professor Dumbledore quietly.

Professor McGonagall began crisply, as if she had been given a signal. "We'll need to provide you with some adaptations in order for you to successfully complete your schoolwork."

"I can stay at Hogwarts?" asked Harry, letting out the breath he hadn't known he was holding.

"Of course," said Professor McGonagall in surprise. "You're not the first blind student we've had here, you know."

No, Harry had not known that. He wondered who the others had been.

"For reading, try this," she said holding something out toward him. He took it from her and found a heavy piece of glass in his hand. It was flat on the bottom and rounded on to top and was heavy enough to be a paperweight, but was about the size of his open palm. He set it on the class schedule he still held in his hand and the blurry letters appeared much magnified, although only a few letters appeared in the dome at a time. Moving his face closer to the paper, he could get the magnified letters to gain enough crispness to distinguish them from one another. He moved it along the line and could make out the word "Transfiguration" one or two letters at a time.

"You might ask a student such as Miss Grainger to read some of the longer assignments aloud to you. If you like, I will request it of her myself."

"Err, thanks, I'll ask her," said Harry.

"Your teachers will be briefed on your condition," continued Professor McGonagall, "and you will work with Professor Lupin to determine the amount of accommodation you need. Your instructors each have a busy teaching schedule, although they will be asked to provide reasonable accommodation upon request from you and Professor Lupin. Is that all?"

Harry's head was swimming. This was it? A little palm-size magnifying glass and send him on his way? Fear trickled through him. At the same time, the knot of determination that had been forming in his stomach for days tightened. He would do this. There would be a way, somehow. She had mentioned that Professor Lupin could teach him, didn't she?

"Err, I'm not sure," he started lamely.

"We will reconvene in one week to assess your progress and determine if you have been adequately assisted in your efforts," said Professor McGonagall. "We want to give you every opportunity for success."

"Thank you," said Harry quietly.

"If that is everything, we will be going," said Professor McGonagall crisply. "I have a Transfiguration class to teach in fifteen minutes. Harry, as your Head of House, I am available to you at any time if you need help."

Her offer was made in the same crisp voice and Harry had trouble picturing himself calling for her if he got lost or fell down a flight of stairs. Dumbledore seemed to read his mind.

"Are you in need of guidance back to your dormitory or to your classes?" he asked.

"No, no, I'm fine," Harry lied.

"In that case, we will expect you at your first class this morning." Dumbledore's voice held a note of finality and he rose.

Harry stood, too.

"Harry, I will shake your hand," Dumbledore said softly and Harry realized he had been holding out his hand, but Harry had missed it. He grinned sheepishly and held out his own hand which Dumbledore shook across the desk.

He turned and followed Professor McGonagall toward the door.

"Harry, since your first class is Transfiguration with me, you may come with me directly to the classroom," said Professor McGonagall as they descended the twisting staircase. Harry found that its movement made him slightly queasy and he was glad when they emerged again into the corridor. "Do you have your schoolbooks with you for today's classes?"

"Err, no," Harry said with a frown. "I don't have my books."

"Well, if we hurry, we'll have time to stop by your dormitory. You ought to have brought them with you," she admonished.

"No, I mean, well, I don't have any books at all. The Dursleys woudn't take me to Diagon Alley and with my eyes being all wonky, err, I guess I forgot to ask Ron's mum…" Harry tried to explain in a rush.

"Oh," said Professor McGonagall, sounding flustered. Harry imagined this was not a feeling that the capable Professor McGonagall experienced very often. "Well, for now, you must share with someone and I will speak to Professor Dumbledore about arranging to get you the necessary materials for your study this year."

Harry nodded and followed her meekly toward the Transfiguration classroom.

That night in Gryffindor Tower, Harry fell into one of the squashy armchairs before the fire. The day had seemed a thousand years long, a dizzying blur of people he couldn't recognize, of teachers welcoming their classes and reading off lists of daunting homework assignments and of nervous traveling the halls, determined not to get lost. Once he'd almost been unable to find the bathroom and made a mental note to locate bathrooms on each floor by some other landmark than what he'd apparently used when he could see.

Ron fell into the chair next to him.

"What's up with you, Mate?" he asked accusingly. "You too good for me this year or what?"

"Wh-what?" Harry asked incredulously.

"You've been giving me the snub all day. Won't sit by me at lunch. Too good for your friends, now, is all I can figure." Ron's voice was angry. Harry could hardly believe his ears. He leaned back on his chair and closed his eyes with a tired sigh. Part of him wanted to snap back at Ron, that if his best friend was really that stupid that maybe he should brush him off. But as he sat, eyes closed, he realized that Ron had had very little explanation and simply did not understand.

"That's not it at all," Harry began, leaning forward and looking steadily at the blur that was Ron's face.

"Well, you better tell me what it is then, because I'm getting pretty sick of it," said Ron belligerently, his tone softening all the same.

"My eyes are all wonky," Harry began again.

"Oh yeah, the eyesight crap," said Ron smugly.

"Crap?" Harry could scarcely believe what he was hearing. "It is not crap, mate. I really can't see where to go, I can't see where to sit, I can't see people's faces, I couldn't even find the bathroom this afternoon." Harry's voice had risen with each sentence. Weeks of frustration seemed to bubble to the surface. "The light just kills me, and worse, it washes everything out like a picture that's too white."

"Blimey," said Ron slowly. "I didn't know it was that bad."

He fell silent for a few minutes, digesting what Harry had just told him.

"You mean you didn't sit with me because you couldn't find me?" he asked as if still working it out.

"Yeah," Harry said miserably.

"Blimey," said Ron again. They both sat in silence and the fire crackled and flickered.

Finally, Ron spoke. "Sorry, Mate."

Harry didn't know if he meant he was sorry for being unjustly angry with Harry or if he was sorry Harry couldn't see. Harry decided he didn't care. The silence teetered around them again.

"Let's play chess," Harry suggested suddenly. More than anything he wanted normalcy, wanted things to be the way they had been between him and Ron, wanted the awkward silences to go away and to laugh and tease and talk like they always had.

"Can you play chess?" asked Ron, surprised.

"I don't know," said Harry ruefully. "I guess I won't know till I try."

"No, I meant that you stink at chess," said Ron with a punch to Harry's arm and Harry burst out laughing, the tension suddenly dissipating. Ron leaped to his feet and ran toward the dorm to retrieve his Wizard's chess set.

He came back at a run and set the board on the low table between them.

"Black or white?" he asked Harry and Harry eyed the blurry squares on the board.

"Black," he said, thinking they might be easier to make out against the contrast of the board. He knew he'd miss the chance to play first but he wanted every chance to see the pieces.

Ron set up the board and made his opening play. With the pieces in their opening formation, Harry had no trouble distinguishing the pieces but as they moved further into the game, he found that he could not tell the pawns from the bishops and the queen and king looked identical. He accidentally moved a bishop into the unguarded range of Ron's knight and lost it, the tiny enchanted knight battling the poor doomed bishop.

"Rats," he said. He knew Ron was grinning smugly but pretended he didn't notice.

After a few more moves, he felt completely at sea. Blobs of indistinguishable pieces littered the board and his brain was tired trying to remember all the previous plays to sort them out. To make matters worse, the pieces moved here and there until he was hardly sure to which square they belonged.

Finally he reached down to touch a piece he assumed was his bishop and the little piece ducked away from his fingers and ran across the board.

"Hey, come back!" he yelled at it. It reluctantly took its place on the board again. Ron chuckled.

The next piece he tried to identify by touch was a knight, he thought. This was confirmed when the horse rose back and bit his finger!

"Ouch!" Harry cried, shaking off the offending chess piece. A dark smear of blood appeared on the tip of his finger and he put it into his mouth like a small child.

By this time Ron was rolling, holding his ribs and laughing in bursting guffaws. Harry sat still for a moment then saw the absurd humor in the situation and began to laugh, too. Soon the laughter built on itself and the two were howling with mirth.

"What are you two doing?" asked Hermione, coming over from a table in the corner where she had been conscientiously doing homework already.

"H-h-harry… the knight…" Ron began but had to stop when he burst into fresh laughter.

"Ron needs to have a talk with his chess set," said Harry sourly, setting Ron off again. Harry couldn't resist and joined in the laughter.

"Hmph," said Hermione, giving up on getting an answer and stalking away. Harry and Ron looked at one another and laughed again; this time it didn't matter that Ron's face was a gray blur.


	7. Chapter 7

The next day, Harry's first class was Potions, down in the dungeons with Professor Snape. Luckily, Ron and Hermione both had the class with him and when he explained his plight, Hermione offered to share her Potions book with him, an especially generous offer considering her attachment to her books. Harry tucked his magnifying bubble, as he thought of it, into his school bag and set off down the dormitory stairs after Ron.

After only three days in the castle, he still felt nervous moving around. Shadows of chairs or tables rose in dark unexpected shapes in front of him as he crossed the Common Room. The portrait hole was invisible in the blurriness of the far wall until he got close to it and the corridors outside still seemed to close in on him. But he said nothing to Ron or Hermione, just hung back and walked slightly behind them as they descended to the dungeons.

"Hello, Miss Potter," simpered a familiar voice, unmistakably Draco's.

"Why hello, Draco," Harry said, turning around.

"I thought you couldn't see," said Draco. "How did you know it was me?"

"The smell," said Harry smugly while Ron and Hermione let out a shout of laughter. Luckily for Harry, Professor Snape opened the door of his classroom at that precise moment and Harry and his friends piled into the room, choosing their usual table. Harry's good mood did not last long, however, for as soon as Professor Snape closed the door of the Potions classroom with a bang, he rounded on the class.

"Welcome to Third Year Potions," he said, drawing his words out as if he disliked the taste of them. "You will all be expected to work extremely hard in this class. No one," he paused on the words to let their emphasis sink in to the rows of students before him. "No one will receive special treatment or consideration from me. You will all earn your grades this year."

Harry's face burned. He could not have been more singled out if Snape had called him by name. At the same time, he felt the challenge offered by the Potions Master. He would have a fair shot. No pity here. Harry squirmed at the memory of some of his other teachers making sympathetic noises and sitting him carefully in the front row as if he were made of crystal and might break. He didn't have to worry about any of that garbage from Snape. His lips firmed into a line of determination.

"Today," said Snape, his boots taking measured steps across the stone floor, "we will be making a stress-relieving potion. Please make note of the changes I am putting on the blackboard that differ from what is written in your book." He strode to the board and began to write, his dark form blending into the blackness of the board to Harry until he seemed to be invisible. Of course, the writing that flowed from the squeaking chalk did not show against the blur of blank chalkboard to Harry.

"What's it say?" he whispered to Hermione and Snape whirled around.

"No talking Mr. Potter!" he snarled. "Five points from Gryffindor."

"But," Harry said, then stopped. Apparently Snape did not plan to make this easy for him. Harry thought fast. Even sitting in the first desk in History of Magic, he'd been unable to see the blackboard or Professor Binns' ghostly face. So he knew that he needed a different solution now. He had to have that information or there was no way he'd be able to brew the potion.

The answer came unexpectedly from Hermione. Drawing a sheet of parchment from her bag, she began to quickly copy down the information Snape wrote in large, clear handwriting. When she'd finished she passed the paper to Harry, who drew it in close to his face until he could just make out the letters. He gave Hermione a grateful look and they pulled out their cauldrons and got to work.

Following Hermione's notes, Harry had little trouble chopping mask-beetles or shredding huffweed. He found his scales easy to use by touch and soon his cauldron was bubbling with a thick, murky brew, along with everyone else in the class. The next direction, however, baffled him.

Simmer until the potion turns a bright green.

_Oh no!_ How would he tell when it was green? He had absolutely no idea what color it was now as the unsavory stew in his pot looked merely a benign medium gray with large bubbles that rose to the surface and broke with a wet plop and an evil smell.

He cast his eyes desperately around the room. He was going to fail on his first day. He had no chance to succeed.

"Giving up so soon, Potter?" asked Snape quietly, right in Harry's ear. Harry nearly jumped from his skin, chagrined that his panic had been so noticeable and angry, too, that Snape had obviously been waiting for this moment.

"No way," said Harry, a determined frown settling onto his face. "It's just…"

"The bright green," said Snape, his voice still ominously soft.

"Yes," said Harry miserably.

"Well, now, isn't that a problem for poor Harry Potter," gloated Snape, a little louder and the Slytherins at the next table guffawed. "He can't see when his potion is green enough."

Harry glared at the dark blur that was Snape. Here the man was taunting him in front of the class, pointing out something Harry very much wished to keep private. There had to be a way to determine the color. There had to.

Harry wracked his brain. He could think of nothing apart from simply asking Hermione to watch his potion for him, but sitting right under Snape's nose, he knew that would never fly. Think, he told himself.

"Of course Harry doesn't remember what bright green is an indicator of," said Snape silkily. "Does anyone else remember?" Hermione's hand shot into the air.

"Yes, Miss Grainger," he said sourly.

"It indicates magical potency," she recited triumphantly.

"Of course it does," said Snape. "And are there any ways of determining levels of magical potency other than color? Someone other than Miss Grainger, if you please."

A shadowy student across the room raised a hand, the movement catching the corner of Harry's eye.

"Yes, Miss Parkinson?"

"Bitumus paper dissolves under certain levels of magical potency, doesn't it?"

"Correct. Varying thicknesses of paper can be used to determine varying levels of potency," said Snape, not turning back to Harry.

It dawned on Harry at that precise moment that Snape was helping him and he nearly fell off his chair. To be sure the Potions Master had used every conceivable snide tone of condescension to do it, but he'd also provided Harry with the information he needed to succeed. Harry slid off his stool and walked to the supply cabinet to look for Bitumus paper, a difficult task in itself since the labels scribbled in Snape's pointed hand completely eluded his blurry gaze. Luckily he found it fairly quickly next to the Binkdots and took a slip back to his table.

Dipping it into his still-plopping cauldron, he withdrew it carefully. Nothing had changed and the bottom half of the paper was covered with goopy potion. Harry looked worriedly at Hermione but she did not say anything, so Harry assumed Snape still hovered somewhere nearby. Harry waited, holding the dripping paper over his cauldron until the disgusting mess inside seemed a little lighter shade of gray. He dipped the paper in again and to his delight, the lower half disappeared with a hiss. A grin of satisfaction spread over his face as he extinguished the fire with a flick of his wand and readied a potion bottle to collect some of the brew and set it on Snape's desk for grading. As he filed past the big desk at the front of the room, Professor Snape said, "You might as well take that with you, Potter."

Harry's heart sank. What had gone wrong?

"You might just need a stress-reliever after running into all those walls," continued Snape grumpily and Harry could scarcely believe his ears. If Snape was recommending Harry actually use the potion it must have been brewed correctly after all. Not only that, did Snape assign the potion on purpose to teach Harry how to handle the color change or even to provide him with a pick-me-up he badly needed at the end of a tense day? Harry couldn't ask, however, because Snape was already busy berating an unfortunate Neville who had inadvertently knocked over his cauldron.

Harry grinned to himself as he followed Ron and Hermione out into the dungeon hallway. He suddenly felt better about Potions class than he had the previous two years.

At lunch Harry sat with Ron and Hermione, thinking to himself that he wanted to figure out a way to locate them even if he did not happen to be with them when they entered the Great Hall. So far he had not come up with anything, but he was thinking along those lines when Hermione said, "What did Madame Pomfrey say, Harry?"

"Err, what?" asked Harry, shaken out of his reverie.

"In the hospital wing, what did Madame Pomfrey say about your eyes? You started to tell us yesterday but Professor McGonagall took you away too fast," she explained patiently.

"Oh," said Harry, feeling somewhat deflated. "She said the killing curse killed part of my eyes. I can't remember the names of the parts, but they won't ever work properly again. She said I was lucky to be alive at all."

"How bad is it, really?" asked Ron.

"Pretty bad," said Harry, struggling to put words to the indefinable haze of images he now saw. "Nothing has any color. It's all light and dark. It's hard to tell where things are and lights really hurt my eyes."

Ron and Hermione were silent, thinking about this.

"All I see are blurry shapes, really," continued Harry thoughtfully. "Although, I thought I saw something on the way up to the hospital wing, before I ran into Professor Snape."

"You ran into Professor Snape?" Ron laughed. "Bet he was thrilled to see you."

"Yeah," said Harry dryly. "Before I saw him I was alone in one of the corridors, I'm not quite sure which one. I hear this growling noise and saw a shadowy shape. It looked almost like a dog, a really big dog. But I'm not sure."

"Maybe it was a grim," said Hermione.

"A grim?" said Harry.

"A grim, you know, a symbol of death," said Hermione seriously. "They say Godric Gryffindor actually saw and killed a grim with his sword long ago, cheating death and infusing his sword with potent magic, but it's only a legend."

"Oh, geesh, thanks Hermione. Are you saying now I'm going to die?" Harry asked, half teasing.

"Gryffindor killed a grim with only a sword?" asked Ron skeptically.

"It's only a legend," repeated Hermione defensively. "I read it in _Magical Myths and Legends_ in the library last term."

"I don't think grims are real," said Ron.

"What I saw seemed pretty real to me," said Harry. "It growled at me." He did not mention the fear he'd felt or how he'd run, terrified, down the passageway.

"But if you can't see anything but shadows, how do you know?" asked Ron.

"I'm not sure, I just knew something was there," Harry said.

"You're barking mad, mate," Ron said, turning back to his plate.

Harry said no more and went on with his own lunch. But the image in his mind of the still, crouching shadow would not leave and he shivered a little as he ate his kidney pie.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all the reviews, story alerts, author alerts and favorites everyone! I hope you're enjoying reading this as much as I'm enjoying writing it. If you are, please drop me a review note, pretty please? It feels so great that people are reading. Harry has quite an exciting year ahead of him. Will he still be able to play quidditch? What's Draco planning? When Voldy finds out Harry can't see, what's he going to do? Are the Death Eaters who attacked Harry coming for him again? Find out in the coming chappies!

After lunch Harry, Ron and Hermione headed to the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom. Following a year of learning from Gilderoy Lockhart, Harry wondered how Professor Lupin would measure up. If the dementor on the train gave any indication, Professor Lupin knew his stuff and Harry looked forward to the class.

He turned to Hermione who had been right beside him going up the Grand Staircase.

"Don't you think that Professor Lupin…" he began but stopped. Hermione was not there next to him where she'd been a few minutes before. Harry twisted around, confused.

"What's up?" asked Ron.

"Where's Hermione?" asked Harry. "She was right here."

"I don't know," said Ron, taking a tone of confusion himself. "Maybe she forgot a book."

"Oh, maybe. So this Lupin," said Harry. "What's he like, do you think?"

"I don't know," said Ron. "He seemed okay on the train."

Harry had been hoping for a bit more of a description than that. What did the man look like? What did he wear, what subtle clues did he give to indicate a personality, a past, an outlook? Harry felt frustrated by the lack of information, as if he was going into the classroom at a significant disadvantage to Professor Lupin who could see him but who could not be seen and subconsciously measured by Harry. Well, he would just have to listen and think on his feet, Harry thought.

They entered the classroom together, sitting at adjoining desks. Without warning, Hermione slid into a seat next to them with a whispered "hi," and a gasp as if she had been trying to catch her breath.

"Where were you," asked Harry, but before she had time to answer, Professor Lupin stood to address the class.

Welcome to Defense Against the Dark Arts," he said. "I trust I may instruct you as well as your previous professor did."

Titters rose from the class as they thought of Professor Lockhart. Lupin ignored these and went on.

"I believe in practical defense. For example, if you needed a quick way to disarm your opponent in a duel, which spell would you use?" he asked.

Several hands shot into the air.

"Mr. err… Finegan?"

"Expelliarmus?" Seamus offered.

"Very good," said Professor Lupin.

Harry wondered what would work if he couldn't see well enough to aim a spell. The memory of the sunlight on the train platform and the brilliant washed-out whiteness swirled around in his head. What if he had to duel outside in the daylight?

Harry remembered the terror he'd felt in the hallway as the black shadow growled at him, a shadow among shadows, a creature without form that stalked him in the darkness. If he had not run into Professor Snape, would the thing have caught him? Would it find him again? Would he have to do battle with an adversary he could not see? Harry cringed at the thought. He imagined himself again in the dark, green light flooding toward him…

With a start, Harry realized he had been daydreaming again and had missed a good portion of the lesson. For some reason, his thoughts continued to turn inward and he seemed to have trouble focusing on the world around him, as though because his perception was so vague, the world was actually that vague and did not matter to him anymore. He shook his head, trying to clear it and focus in on what Professor Lupin said.

"…now form a line in the center of the room."

Desks were shoved back toward the walls and students lined up. Harry stood in the center of the line, feeling foolishly clueless. Of course, he ought to have been listening rather than daydreaming. Now he had no idea what the line of students were about to face or what to do about it.

Lupin walked to a large dark wardrobe in the corner of the room and with something of a flourish he opened the door. Harry watched a reluctant student approach the wardrobe and out of the wardrobe strode the unmistakable form of Professor Snape, black cloak flowing. So forceful was his presence that Harry could almost see the flashing eyes and curl of his lip. The student let out a terrified squeak and Harry knew at once it was Neville facing the intimidating form of Professor Snape.

He pointed a trembling wand at Snape and muttered something that to Harry sounded like "r-r-ridiculous!" Harry could not make out a change in Snape's appearance but the rest of the class burst into laughter and the figure of Snape disappeared with a pop, much to Harry's surprise.

Ron, in front of him, had to face down a giant spider, which gave Harry the idea that whatever it was Professor Lupin kept in the wardrobe must take on the form of their greatest fear. He knew Ron loathed spiders.

Then it was Harry's turn. Ron had taken care of the spider with a shouted "ridiculous!" and the spider had begun dancing a polka. The students laughed and the spider popped into oblivion.

Ron stepped aside and before Harry had time to ask what was going on, Professor Lupin opened the door again. Nothing emerged from the cupboard, but Harry suddenly felt his limbs growing cold. The light began to dim and he heard students around him muttering to one another. Candles lining the wall sputtered and went out; the daylight streaming through the high windows faded. It seemed as if the wardrobe sucked all the light from the room into a black hole and darkness descended on the terrified students. One girl in the back began screaming as suddenly in the gloom, a figure emerged from the shadows, cold and eerie. Harry stood frozen in place, his mind swimming in blackness, slipping toward unconsciousness. He closed his eyes, breathing hard, forcing his mind to stay awake. He remembered the angry determination that had kept him from falling into the well on the train and he tried to bring it to life again, but it felt feeble and weak. He just felt tired now.

Someone pushed him roughly out of the way and the dark terror lifted. Warmth stole back into the room and light rose again in the domed windows, along with a white orb, hanging in front of Professor Lupin, attacking Harry's now-open eyes with sharp, silver brilliance. Lupin backed the orb into the wardrobe and closed the door, leaning his back against it, facing the class. Students around Harry still murmured to one another and the girl who had gone into hysterics was being quieted by several of her friends. Harry couldn't be sure, but it sounded like Lavender Brown.

Harry stood shaking, bent over, his hands on his knees. He wondered for a moment if he would be sick.

Lupin dismissed the students in a low voice and the murmurs changed to shuffling of books and scraping of desks as people gathered their bags and jostled one another out of the room.

"Harry, may I speak with you for a moment?" asked Professor Lupin.

Harry nodded. Ron touched him sympathetically on the elbow, which made Harry jump, but he gave Ron a nod and watched his friend gather his things and leave the room, the blurred gray shape blending into the nothingness that was the back wall of the classroom. Harry turned shakily back to Professor Lupin, wondering what the professor would say, wondering if he, Harry, was in trouble.

"Here," said Professor Lupin, holding something out to Harry. When Harry held out his own hand, Lupin placed a chocolate bar in it.

"What was that, Harry?" he asked.

"I was hoping you would tell me," answered Harry, holding the chocolate uncertainly.

"At first when I saw that you were next in line, I wasn't going to let you face the Boggart…"

"Boggart?" asked Harry, puzzled.

"Yes, as I explained to the class, the creature I brought in for today's demonstration was a Boggart, a being that likes to live in dark cupboards or under stairs, a creature that takes the form of a fear, the fear of the person who faces it. Weren't you listening?" chided Professor Lupin.

"I-I-I am sorry, sir," said Harry. "I let my mind wander, I guess."

"That's not exactly an auspicious beginning to the year," laughed Professor Lupin and Harry relaxed somewhat. "As I was saying," went on Professor Lupin, "I was afraid your Boggart would take on the form of You-Know-Who, not something I wanted the rest of the class to have to face. Also, I was concerned that you might lack the, ah, ability to face a Boggart and cast the charm correctly."

Harry remained silent. The past two days had been a frustrating string of teachers concerned about Harry's "ability."

Lupin went on as if Harry had encouraged him to do so. "But I decided that wasn't fair. You deserved your shot along with everyone else. In fact, if anyone needed hands-on experience it's you."

In spite of himself, Harry grinned. For some reason, Lupin understood. Without Harry having to explain, Lupin knew Harry wanted a fair shot, no matter how frightening the experience might be.

"But what was the Boggart for me?" he asked.

"I'm not sure," Lupin admitted. "At first I thought it might be a dementor, since the air got so cold. I knew you were pretty shaken by the dementor on the train, after all."

"It might have been one," said Harry. "It felt just like the one on the train."

"It did not look like one," said Lupin simply.

"But that's the thing, isn't it?" asked Harry, suddenly understanding. "I'm not just afraid of the dementors."

"You're afraid of facing something you cannot see," finished Lupin quietly.

Harry nodded miserably. Today's lesson had been revealing, and not just for him. In a way, he felt naked, exposed before Professor Lupin, as if he stood before the man with nothing on, as though he'd allowed his secret thoughts to be read or posted on a school bulletin board.

"I-I-I don't know…" Harry began, then stopped, trying to gather his scattered thoughts. "I need help, I think. I mean, I want to be here, at Hogwarts, I really do." How could he explain his desire to be here, to live a normal life, to not stand out or make waves, but to also explain the vulnerability he felt, how lost he seemed to be just walking around the castle, the way he strained to see, how faces were not clear enough to recognize, how he feared he'd never be able to do even the simplest spells with his wand because he couldn't see to aim?

"Harry," said Lupin softly. "Harry, this is so new to you. Give yourself a chance. It's been a mere matter of weeks since you lost your eyesight. I imagine it feels terrifying still."

Harry nodded glumly.

"I remember…" began Lupin, then seemed to think better of it. "Let's just say I know how it feels to be different. To have people wondering how to treat you. To doubt yourself and your ability to cope."

Harry wondered what Lupin was talking about, but he suddenly felt too tired to care. He took a bite of the chocolate.

"Harry, let your friends help you," Lupin advised. "You don't have to go through this alone."

Harry thought of the chess game, of laughing with Ron. He thought of Hermione and how she had copied the blackboard for him in Potions. He nodded again at Lupin.

"And for practical purposes, we need to get you some training," continued Lupin.

"Training?" asked Harry dubiously.

"Yes, training," said Lupin firmly. "You can't change what happened to you. But you can adapt. You can find other ways to do anything you want to do."

Harry thought of the Bitumus paper. Yes, there were other ways to do things, weren't there?

"Like what?" he asked.

"Well, do you see well enough to find your way around without getting lost? Can you see stairs?"

A lie lay on the tip of Harry's tongue, the lie he'd told Hermione and Dumbledore, but something stopped him. He was tired of walking around with his heart in his throat lest he should fall or get lost. He was tired of straining to see the difference between cracks on a flat floor and lines that signified steps. He was tired of walking by a sunny window and suddenly having the world wash out to streaked white nothingness.

"No, not really," he confessed. "I mean, sort of, but it's really hard to make them out."

"So we'll begin with that. Memorizing the castle and learning to get around with a stick."

"A white stick?" Harry asked, mentally shrinking from the thought. "I don't want to use a white stick."

"You don't have to if you don't want to," said Lupin, "but I think you'll find a long white cane makes life a lot easier and you'll be much more independent."

Harry considered this. It was true he had avoided going anywhere without having someone to follow. At the Dursley's he'd pretty much stayed locked in his room. Independence sounded attractive, but the thought of the attention a white stick would attract made him unsure.

"Why don't you think about it?" asked Lupin finally.

"Yes, I'll think about it," promised Harry.

"Now I'll walk with you back to Gryffindor Tower," said Lupin, rising from where he'd perched on the corner of his desk. "Oh, I almost forgot. Professor Dumbledore asked me to inform you that Hagrid will take you to Diagon Alley on Saturday to purchase the supplies you'll need for the school year. He asks that you be ready to meet Hagrid in the entrance hall at ten o'clock sharp."


	9. Chapter 9

Standing in the entrance hall on Saturday morning, Harry had no trouble recognizing Hagrid when he came in the big double doors, even though the light streaming in from behind him made Harry flinch. Hagrid's huge shape and the booming voice as he greeted Harry enthusiastically left no doubt as to his identity.

"Harry!" he said with delight. "Good ter see yeh! Dumbledore told me yeh would be needin' me ter take yeh to Diagon Alley today and let me tell yeh, I couldn'ta been happier ter get a job to do."

"Hi Hagrid," said Harry, grinning and running forward to place his arms in a hug around Hagrid's middle. Hagrid's bone-crunching hug in return left Harry breathless.

"But Dumbledore said yeh can't see?" Hagrid said with concern, placing heavy hands on each of Harry's shoulders and stooping to look into his eyes.

"Right, yeah," said Harry awkwardly. "Well, I can see a little."

"That's a right bad business," said Hagrid. "I'm sorry ter hear it."

"It's ok, Hagrid," said Harry quickly, wishing to put the topic behind them. "I'm getting used to it. Professor Lupin's going to help teach me to get about and, well, I'll be fine."

"Oh I'm sure yeh'll be fine," said Hagrid. "Yeh usually are."

Harry grinned again.

"Shall we be on our way then?" asked Hagrid.

"Yes!" said Harry enthusiastically and Hagrid laughed. In his mind's eye, Harry saw the beetle black eyes twinkling. "It will be just like my first trip to Diagon Alley two years ago."

To his surprise, Hagrid took Harry's hand, guiding him through the doorway and into the blinding sunlight of a balmy September morning. Harry's eyes involuntarily closed against the light but the sun felt fabulous on his face and he tipped his head to drink it in. With his hand clasped in Hagrid's beefy one, Harry felt safer than he had in weeks. A squeeze told him they had reached the top of the front steps, another at the bottom and they were walking down the road toward the gates together, the warm sun caressing the tops of their heads.

Although he knew dementors had been stationed around the castle, Harry doubted even passing one of them would do much to dampen his spirits on this lovely Saturday. To his relief, however, they passed through the gates without encountering one at all.

Once they reached Hogsmeade Road, Hagrid pulled something from his pocket. "Portkey," he explained, and seeing Harry's bewildered expression, he told Harry about an enchanted object that would transport them instantly to another place. Harry touched the teacup Hagrid held out and felt an odd jerking sensation behind his navel. In another moment he and Hagrid stood breathless on a busy London street.

"I thought you weren't allowed…" began Harry, but Hagrid shushed him.

"Dumbledore gave me that," he said, his voice almost containing a wink.

"Aah," Harry said with comprehension.

Hagrid took Harry's hand again and guided him into the Leaky Cauldron. The door was so small in comparison to Hagrid's bulk that Harry pulled out of Hagrid's grasp and simply followed behind him. The darkness in the smoky pub was a welcome relief and he opened his eyes and looked around. At this hour in the morning, the place looked fairly empty, its quiet hush confirming this.

"Wot's say we stop for a quick one before we go on ter do yer shoppin'?" asked Hagrid uncertainly.

"Sure," agreed Harry, glad for the respite from the sunlight that the little pub afforded. They slid onto bar stools as wizened old Tom approached, rubbing a glass dry on a white towel, the motion clear to Harry even if the towel was not.

"Your usual?" he asked Hagrid.

"Yep! And a butterbeer for young Harry 'ere," said Hagrid.

"Goodness me," said the bartender, peering closer. "It is, it's young Harry Potter! So glad to see you again." And he solemnly shook Harry's hand before bustling off to get their drinks.

Once they were leaning on their elbows sipping their drinks, Tom leaned close. "No new news on that Sirius Black, now. Bad business, that."

"Th' Ministry's placed dementors up at Hogwarts," said Hagrid, taking a sip of his drink, then setting it down abruptly where a slosh made the wood of the bar smoke a little. "Dumbledore's not happy about it."

"I should think not," said Tom. "I heered that Black was seen in Hogsmeade, but that mighta just been a rumor. They say," dropping his voice to a whisper, "they say he kin change form."

"Not in front o'young Harry, now," admonished Hagrid, to Harry's chagrin. He couldn't wait to talk the whole thing over with Ron and Hermione and he wanted as much information as possible. Who was this Sirius Black, this escaped prisoner? What did he have to do with Hogwarts?

"Well, he of anyone oughter know," said Tom with a cackle.

"Know what?" asked Harry.

"Know who Black is after," said Tom, but Hagrid slammed his drink down on the bar. More smoke rose.

"We best be gittin' yer things, Harry," he said hastily, pulling at Harry's elbow.

Harry desperately wanted to hear Tom's story, but he followed Hagrid into the sunlight behind the pub and stood silently while Hagrid touched the brick, opening the magical arched door into Diagon Alley.

"Why don't yeh just go on ahead then?" asked Hagrid, a little hastily. "I'll just catch up with yeh in a few minutes, yeh'll be all right in here." And giving Harry a bit of a shove through the doorway, he turned back toward the Leaky Cauldron. Harry frowned but continued on into Diagon Alley alone, wishing Hagrid was with him. He felt a little ruffled that Hagrid had not allowed him to hear Tom's story; after all, Tom had more than implied Harry was involved in some way. But Harry sighed and walked along deeper into Diagon Alley, hoping maybe he could get more out of Hagrid later.

The first business was to go to Gringotts, he supposed, so he continued straight down the alley toward the glowing white stone bank. With the sunlight full in his face, Harry could hardly open his eyes and he stumbled on the first step of the bank, falling onto his knees on the marble steps. Instead of getting up, he sat, his head buried in his hands for a few minutes. With a long white stick, he would not have fallen. He wondered if a white stick was really more conspicuous than the constant stumbling or bumping into things. It might also be worth saving himself a few bruises, he thought, rubbing his aching kneecaps.

He rose and continued up the steps, nodding to the stalwart goblins who guarded the doors. Fumbling for the handle, he opened the huge door and went inside. Although he could not be sure, he suspected the same goblin, Griphook, who had assisted him on his first trip to Gringotts two years ago, stepped forward with a formal gesture and offered to take him down to his vault. Harry enjoyed the rail ride on the little cart and in no time he had filled his bag with coins and was back out in the sunlight of Diagon Alley.

He wandered along the rows of shops, trying to see through the glaring panes of glass to the blurry contents of each shop, squinting at the words of signs that just escaped being clear enough to read. Finally, he located Quality Quidditch Supplies by the long shape of a racing broom in the front window and went inside.

He ran his hands longingly over the broom, thinking of the speed and joy of flying. He had yet to mount a broom since the attack and it suddenly struck him that he would be cut from the quidditch team. No one would be daft enough to keep a blind Seeker. Misery flowed over Harry as he stood with his hand on the new broom, his thoughts in a thorny tangle. He so badly still wanted to play quidditch. He wondered if there was any way he could possibly still play… but no, that was insanity. Still, he ran his hand up and down the length of the shiny new broom, bending close to peer at the brass nameplate. The letters, too small to be read, too small even to feel, seemed to taunt him.

"That there is a Firebolt," said a gravelly voice behind him and Harry jumped. He turned to see a beefy wizard approaching him, the shop owner, he supposed. "Fastest broom on the market. Made for greater maneuverability, too."

"Mmm," Harry said noncommittally. The Firebolt was nice, but his Nimbus 2000 suited him fine and he supposed the Firebolt was horrendously overpriced. He left the shop and saw Hagrid hurrying toward him down the street.

"Sorry ter leave yeh like that," said Hagrid, seeming hot and bothered.

"S'ok," said Harry.

"No I mean I shoulda stayed and helped ya," repeated Hagrid.

"It's ok, Hagrid, really," said Harry again. He actually had enjoyed the time alone, to his surprise.

"Well, let's get the rest of yer things, shall we?" said Hagrid, as if by hurrying he could make up for leaving Harry alone.

"What did Tom say?" asked Harry as they walked toward Madame Malkin's Robes For All Occasions.

"Tom? Oh, nothin' much, really," said Hagrid, pretending to be extremely interested in the passing shop fronts.

"He said something about Sirius Black changing forms," Harry persisted.

"Oh, that," said Hagrid. "He just said there have been more werewolf sightings… oops, shouldn'ta said that."

"Why not?" Harry persisted. But they had reached the shop and Hagrid refused to say more. Harry stood quietly while Madame Malkin fitted his robe. He was thinking about Sirius Black. Was he a werewolf? What if he had been the shadow stalking Harry in the castle? If so, how had he gotten past the dementors?

"There you go, how does it look?" asked Madame Malkin. Harry stared at the blurred-out reflection in the glass before him.

"Fine," he said shortly. He sighed. He felt like life was either one big lie or one big long explanation that no one wanted to hear. Stepping off the stool, he paid for the robe and joined Hagrid at the front of the shop.

"Is Sirius Black a werewolf?" he asked Hagrid as they stepped once again onto the brilliance of the street.

"Oh, no, where did you get that idea?" asked Hagrid.

"Well, I thought I saw something, oh, never mind," said Harry. Now that he thought about it he had probably imagined the shadow in the hallway anyway. But he could not banish from his mind the image of a dark hole, of green light speeding toward him and suddenly into his memory the sound of a low growl, almost like a purr. He frowned and shook his head.

Hagrid steered him into Flourish and Blotts where they found his books. Harry accepted the brown paper parcel with something like a grimace, thinking of the thousands of letters of tiny text, skittering away from his struggling sight.

"Wot's this?" asked Hagrid, with sudden amazement. "I have never seen this shop before."

Considering Hagrid probably had been to Diagon Alley hundreds of times, Harry considered this to be highly unlikely, but he asked what it was called.

"The Shop of Requirement," said Hagrid, reading the hanging sign over the door. "I swear it's never been here before."

"Well, let's go see what's in it, then," said Harry, thoroughly curious now.

They stepped into the dim interior of the shop and a tiny witch bustled up to them, her pointed hat bright with glittering stars.

"Hello, dears," she said as if she were so delighted to see them she could hardly contain herself. "Welcome to the Shop of Requirement, everything needed by a differently-abled witch or wizard."

Harry grinned to himself. Differently-abled. Well, that was one way to put it. This must be the gimp shop. No wonder Hagrid had never seen it… he'd never needed it before. He was ready to turn and head back out the door when a collection of long white canes caught his attention.

Could it really hurt to buy one? He didn't necessarily have to use it, after all. He could get it just in case…

As the tiny witch conversed with Hagrid, who had to stoop to make eye contact with her, Harry hesitantly approached the walking sticks. Every length and shape imaginable leaned in racks against the wall. There were long straight white canes, folding canes, canes with curly handles meant to be leaned upon, canes that glowed with charms and spells, intended to do who-knows-what.

Somewhat reluctantly, Harry chose a simple folding cane that came up roughly to the middle of his chest. It had a black handle and felt light and balanced to his touch. With growing delight, he moved along the wall of shelves that contained glowing clocks and talking clocks and tactile clocks, wand attachments, talking timers and thermometers, clothing tags and a myriad of items Harry couldn't even identify. He chose a clock with large glowing numbers, tucking it under his arm.

The tiny witch had finished her conversation with Hagrid and hurried over to Harry, almost twinkling with merriment.

"Do you need anything else, dear?" she asked. "Magnifiers, perhaps?"

"Maybe," said Harry hesitantly, and she led the way to another wall where a shelf was littered with various magnifying glasses, some with lights, some with shining handles. Harry browsed among the pile, finally choosing a long, arched one that would allow him to read an entire line of print at one time.

At this point Harry was beginning to feel a little less awkward, helped in large part by the cheerful little witch. She seemed to be so delighted in helping Harry find just the right equipment he began to feel less self-conscious and to imagine how much easier this stuff would make his life.

"Do you have anything to make lights less bright?" he asked. "I'm not really looking for dark glasses, though," he explained in a rush.

"Indeed we do!" she affirmed with a twinkle. "You already wear glasses. Good! These here," she said, holding up small lenses, "slip on the back of your own lenses. They darken in bright light, blocking the color spectrum that is the most painful for you, while appearing clear to everyone else."

Harry accepted these gratefully, adding them to the growing pile of stuff on the counter.

"One more thing," she said, pulling Harry close to her and laying a finger aside her nose, "I have a notion you'd like to see the adaptive quidditch equipment."

"The what?" asked Harry in amazement.

"Right over here, dear," she said drawing him toward the far wall. Out of the tangle of items on the shelves she pulled out a sparkling shining ball and tapped it with her wand. It burst into life, wings fluttering, but also letting out a very definite beeping sound. Harry's jaw dropped.

"Blind people play quidditch?" he asked.

"Oh yes!" she said with delight. "Here you go, take this and begin practicing with it. You'll find that in no time you will be in fine form."

Harry had his doubts about that, but he took the Snitch in his hand where it folded its wings and seemed to snuggle sleeping into his palm.

Once he had purchased these items, she showed him how to slip the extra lenses onto his own glasses, where they hardly showed. This time, exiting the shop, he was delighted that they instantly darkened; blocking the worst of the glaring sunlight and allowing him to open his eyes and view the still-blurry street. They did not improve his sight, but the reduction in glare made a big difference.

"Ready?" asked Hagrid and they entered the last shop, the apothecary.

Along with the list of potions ingredients on his Hogwarts list, Harry purchased a good supply of Bitumus paper.

"Do you have anything else that indicates when a potion changes color?" he asked the tall, thin shopkeeper.

"Hmmm," the man pondered. "There are always Chameleon Tea Flowers." He showed Harry a box of minuscule seeds that looked like grass seed. "These grow a different flower for each color they encounter."

"Good," Harry said, "I'll take a box."

The man wrapped Harry's purchases smoothly and Harry was soon out the door. He did not hear the man say in a low voice, "but they also sap the potion of its potency."

Harry and Hagrid spent a little more time browsing the shops before heading back to the Leaky Cauldron for a sandwich. Harry felt like breakfast had been days ago. Still, he couldn't wait to get back to Hogwarts and show Ron and Hermione the things he'd bought as well as discuss the new information that Tom the bartender had inadvertently let drop and also ask them if they thought it was possible to still play quidditch with the new beeping snitch he'd purchased at The Shop of Requirement.


	10. Chapter 10

Once back at Hogwarts, Harry headed straight for Gryffindor Tower, intent on finding Ron and Hermione. He had just mounted the second set of stairs, hopping automatically over the trick sixth step, when a voice behind him stopped him in his tracks.

"Harry, there you are."

Harry turned. The voice was familiar yet so out of context and so unexpected he couldn't place it. Whomever had spoken was tall and striding toward him with a purposeful, yet somehow weary-looking gait and Harry finally recognized Professor Lupin.

"I have some time after tea if you'd like to practice memorizing the castle," he said. "I see you bought a cane."

"Err, yeah," said Harry, resting his chin on the pile of oddly-shaped parcels he carried. He supposed the cane stuck out at the top. "Sure, yeah, after tea," he agreed without thinking and turned again toward Gryffindor Tower.

He finally reached the Fat Lady after taking only one wrong turn. He supposed that was an improvement, but he still felt impatient with himself.

"Hushpuppies," he told her and she swung aside with only a sleepy comment on his many parcels.

He paused inside the door, scanning the misty-gray common room, listening hard for clues as to the occupants. He saw no movement and heard nothing. Of course, on such a lovely day as this, they wouldn't be hanging out in the common room, he supposed. He wondered vaguely if Dumbledore had called off the dementors so that students could enjoy the sunshine.

So eager was he to find his friends, that he ran full-tilt through the common-room, ignoring his bashed shins as he hit a chair on the way past. He plowed up the dormitory stairs and dumped everything in a heap onto his bed. With his fingers, he explored the lumpy, gray pile, located the Snitch and thrust it into his pocket. Once he touched the smooth surface of his cane, folded into four sections and held with the elastic cord, and considered taking it with him, but finally, he left it with his books and other things on his bed, then headed out to find Ron and Hermione.

On a whim, he decided to try the Library first, although the idea of Ron inside the Library on such a beautiful day seemed ludicrous. But Hermione might be there. He pelted down the corridor and toward the moving staircase.

It was not there. Instead of stairs, there was a drop-off that disappeared into blurred oblivion at least three floors down. But Harry didn't see it. He stepped off the edge in a rush to find his friends, not even stopping to notice whether the stairs were in place. They weren't. His foot plunged and he began falling forward. Adrenaline surged in him like the forceful spray of a fountain. Instinctively he flung himself backward grasping for the edge of the railing, his left foot, which was still on the floor, sliding sideways as he flailed for something to hold onto.

For a year-long second, he stood poised on the edge, his right foot sinking into open, echoing space, his left slipping out along the floor. At the last second, his left hand caught the last newel of the stone handrail. He grasped it with all his strength and the force of his momentum swung him around to his left until he was facing the outside of the rail, both feet dangling. With his right hand, he caught another newel and he hung there for a long moment by his hands, feet hanging well below the edge of the floor, heart thudding.

With a grimace, he hauled himself upward by his arms. With his left foot he caught the edge of the floor and finally, flopping like some absurd gasping fish he rolled onto the safety of the cold flagstones where he lay panting and sweating.

He listened. Quiet. No one had seen him nearly kill himself. That was good, he supposed. Protective Professor Flitwick might have had a coronary had he witnessed the event. Harry stood shakily to his feet. He could not stop the trembling in his hands as the last of the adrenaline ebbed away leaving him pale and shaken. It occurred to him all in a rush that he had actually almost died. The fall from his broom last year in quidditch was nothing compared to a three-story fall onto a hard stone floor. He felt suddenly sober and thoughtful. Maybe he needed that white stick more than he thought.

He turned slowly and began walking back toward Gryffindor Tower again. He woke the snoozing Fat Lady and climbed through the portrait hole, still thinking hard. He still did not want to carry a white stick. The image of strange-looking blind people he'd seen occasionally on the street haunted him. But now he realized he wanted much more to remain alive with all his bones intact. And he really did not want to have to wait for someone to lead him around as though he were some kind of pathetic pet dog on a leash. He wanted to be free to go where he wanted when he wanted. Maybe the stick could help him do that. Maybe it was a sign of independence, not a sign of ineptitude.

He trudged up the stairs toward his dorm room.

Again, the pile of indistinguishable objects on his bed confronted him. He touched it, found the folded cane and drew it out. He undid the elastic and shook it out straight. It snapped smartly into a staff, the metal ferrules locking into place. He ran it along the floor in front of him, enjoying the way it found the edge of the rug, something that did not stand out to his eyes since it happened to blend into the color of the floor.

That's weird, Harry thought. It's not the same color as the wood of the floor. I remember it being different. But to him now, the hue of the rug looked absolutely identical to the hue of the floor, both a dark gray. He continued on to the dormitory stairs, his stick bumping down the steps reassuringly in front of him. With each step he found his confidence rising, knowing he'd be able to find the bottom of the stairs without stumbling or feeling with his foot. On his way through the common room, the stick found a rogue chair before his shins did and Harry grinned.

Outside the portrait hole, he ran the white stick along in front of him, enjoying the feel of the floor and the knowledge that it would tell him where the stairs were. Two students passed him without comment. He mentally cringed, expecting stares and whispers, but if they did stare, he couldn't see it anyway. He grinned again and picked up speed. Walking down the first set of stairs, he did not even need the handrail and he felt his confidence rise even more. He approached the moving staircase, the scene of his recent scare.

This time the stairs were there and though they looked like the same blurry, misty nothing to Harry as the hole had looked, but when his stick bumped down only one step, it reassured him that they were indeed in the right place. He straightened his back, took a deep breath and descended. He hadn't realized how tense his neck and shoulders had become, trying to peer down at his feet. Now, standing up straight and holding his head up, he felt those tight muscles relax.

In no time he reached the Library.

Pushing open the doors, he entered the hush that hung over the room, squinting a little against the streaming sunlight from the tall, arched windows. Apparently his magical lenses didn't catch all the light that assaulted his eyes, though he was sure they helped. He knew his chances of finding Hermione in the big room were next to zero, so he approached the Librarian's desk where he hoped Madame Pince was located.

"May I help you?" she asked, confirming that she was indeed behind the counter. He found the counter with his cane before crashing into it and stopped, trying to find Madame Pince against the shelves of dark books behind her. He finally gave up, speaking toward where her voice had come.

"Is Hermione Granger in here?" he asked.

"No, I haven't seen her today," Madame Pince replied kindly and Harry thanked her, turning to leave.

Where were they?

Harry decided he'd try the lake next and here he had more luck. With newfound confidence, he made his way easily out the front doors and down the grassy knoll toward the blurry clump of trees where he and his friends had often spent a sunny Saturday afternoon.

As he approached, Hermione called out, "Harry! Over here."

Ron stood as he walked up to them. "Wow, you got a blind stick. Do they have those at Diagon alley?"

"Yeah," said Harry. "And a bunch of other stuff too. There's this shop called The Shop of Requirement."

"Like the Room of Requirement," said Hermione.

"What's that?" asked Harry.

"You still haven't read Hogwarts, A History," said Hermione, her voice teasing.

"Well, I figured I didn't need to," answered Harry. "You'll eventually tell me everything in it anyway."

Ron snorted and took the white stick from Harry. Closing his eyes, he walked along the grass, waving it in front of him wildly until he plowed into the trees.

"This doesn't work," he said petulantly.

Harry and Hermione both laughed and Harry sat beside her on the grass.

"Tom the bartender was talking about Sirius Black," he began but their attention was diverted by another shout from Ron. He'd walked into the edge of the lake and began complaining about his wet shoes. Returning, he handed the stick back to Harry and plopped himself on the grass, still grousing about the water squelching from his shoes. Hermione waved her wand over them and they dried instantly.

"You can keep that white stick, mate," Ron said. "I can't make it work."

Harry was still laughing and didn't answer.

"What did he say?" asked Hermione and Harry thought back to the bartender's cryptic remarks.

"Who?" asked Ron before Harry could answer.

"Tom, the bartender at the Leaky Cauldron," answered Hermione.

"Oh, did you talk to him?" asked Ron, untying his shoe.

"Yes, would you shut up and I'll tell you," said Harry playfully. Ron threw the shoe at him. Harry didn't see it coming and gasped when it hit him on the arm, but he had no trouble throwing it back, grinning as he heard it make contact. "He was talking about Sirius Black. He seemed to think it had something to do with me."

"With you?" Hermione asked suspiciously. "Why you?"

"No idea," said Harry. "He also seemed to think Black might be a werewolf, but when I asked Hagrid, he said he wasn't."

"A werewolf," said Hermione, thoughtfully.

"Do you think he might be?" asked Harry.

"Not Black, but…" Hermione broke off her sentence. "There might be someone else."

"Who?" asked Ron.

"I'm not sure yet," said Hermione, maddeningly.

"Well, he said there have been more werewolf sightings," said Harry, laying back lazily on the grass and closing his eyes.

"Harry, I wonder if the grim that Godric Gryffindor killed wasn't a grim at all but a werewolf," said Hermione suddenly.

"Legend, remember?" said Ron.

"No, I'm serious," began Hermione, but Ron cut her off.

"We know. You're always serious."

"Oh, hey," said Harry sitting up. "I wanted to show you guys something." He delved into his pocket and came up with the Snitch. Although to him it looked silver, he knew it was glittering gold in the sunlight.

"A Snitch?" asked Ron.

"Yeah, watch," said Harry and tapped the Snitch with his wand. It flew to life, wings beating the air, beeping like mad, fluttering as it struggled to free itself from Harry's grasp.

"It beeps!" Ron said.

"Thank you, Captain Obvious," returned Hermione sarcastically. "Is that so you can still play quidditch, Harry?"

"I don't know, I hope so," said Harry. "I want to try it out." He touched the Snitch with his wand again, putting it back into its peaceful sleep and dropping it back into his pocket.

"It's teatime," said Hermione. "Let's come out after tea and try it."

"Oh," said Harry, crestfallen. "I told Professor Lupin I'd take a lesson after tea."

"Lessons on a Saturday?" asked Ron skeptically as he got to his feet and stretched.

"Yeah," said Harry ruefully, not wanting to elaborate. He stood and shook his cane out straight, listening for each section to snap into place.

"I need to study anyway," said Hermione.

Ron grunted. "You don't need to study. It's only the first week."

The banter continued as they walked toward the castle, Harry still marveling at the ease with which he found the shadowy front steps with the tip of his stick. The doorway of the Great Hall opened up to his right and he found it easier to get through it without ramming his shoulder into the frame. He grinned to himself.

After tea was over and Ron and Hermione both headed toward the Library, while Harry waited uncertainly in the Great Hall for Professor Lupin. He wasn't sure whether he'd promised to meet Lupin somewhere and if so where it was. To his relief, Lupin approached Harry in short order, asking him if he was ready.

"I guess so," said Harry glumly.

"Don't sound so excited," smiled Lupin. "I see you brought your cane."

"Err, well, I just about fell off one of the moving stairs," said Harry.

"Hmm, a little fear does wonders for the old motivation, doesn't it?" said Lupin dryly. "I worked for a while as a mobility instructor, so I have a few things I can show you."

"Ok," said Harry unenthusiastically.

For the next hour, Lupin showed him how to swing the cane back and forth in front of each step, how to hold it with a pencil grip for crowded areas, how to slide his hand down its length to find door handles and how to hold it just above stairs until he felt the bottom. Harry had no idea there were so many tricks to using a white cane and he promised himself he'd practice using them as soon as he got the chance.

"How do you know all this stuff?" he asked Lupin finally.

"Like I said, I worked at St. Mungo's for a while, teaching newly blinded witches and wizards," replied Lupin.

"Why did you stop?" asked Harry. "You're really good at it."

"Thank you," said Professor Lupin with a smile in his voice. "I was let go when… well, when they decided I was not a good candidate any longer." His voice hid something, as if he did not want to tell Harry the whole truth. Harry wondered about this, but decided not to pry. "Anyway," went on Lupin, "Professor Dumbledore gave me the job here instead, and I love teaching, so I was glad to take it."

"Have you ever heard of blind people playing quidditch?" asked Harry.

"Sure. They have a whole league of blind players with a few special rules," answered Lupin enthusiastically.

"I don't want a special league. I want to stay on my house team," said Harry, frowning.

"Oh, well, you might still be able to do that. You would have to practice extremely hard. And your teammates would likely need to help you some," said Lupin thoughtfully.

"I'm going to try," Harry stated with determination.


	11. Chapter 11

The next day dawned shadowy and clouded, a fact for which Harry felt profoundly grateful. Directly after breakfast, he and Ron headed to their dorm to get brooms and Harry's new beeping Snitch. Hermione tagged along behind them, not particularly interested in their ongoing quidditch talk but curious nonetheless about Harry's ability to fly.

White stick in one hand and broom in the other, Harry had no trouble keeping pace with Ron as they snaked their way through corridors and toward the entrance hall. He still felt self-conscious holding the stick, especially since he was also so obviously going flying, but the ease with which he was able to move about the castle more than made up for the awkwardness whenever they passed other students, some of whom pointed and stared.

Bursting out the front door, they made directly for the quidditch pitch. Harry could hardly wait to get onto his Nimbus 2000 and as soon as they had entered the pitch, he folded his cane and handed it Hermione.

"Be careful," she couldn't help saying.

"Yes, Mum," Harry responded with mock cheerfulness, throwing his leg over his broom and kicking off hard from the grass. With a rush, he was airborne and the delight that welled up inside him was just as he remembered it. No longer earthbound, he was free, free to move, to soar, to fly without shuffling or running into things. Up here in the air there were no stairs waiting to trick him, no furniture, no walls. Nothing against which to accidentally slam.

Well, almost nothing. He realized as he circled the pitch that he was lower than he'd thought and the pole from one of the quidditch hoops came suddenly out of nowhere into his field of vision. He swerved and just missed it.

Circling the pitch again, he picked up speed, whooping as he flew. He felt great. Whether he could see or not, he belonged on a broom. From the hours of practice the previous two years, he intuitively knew the dimensions of the pitch and could tell when he was getting close to one of the walls or stands, whether it was the vague blurred forms or the feeling in the air, he was never quite sure.

Something swished past him on his right and he realized Ron had taken to the air and was keeping pace beside him.

"This is great!" Harry yelled against the wind in his face.

"Yeah!" Ron echoed his enthusiasm. "Looks like you're not having much trouble," shouted Ron. Harry dropped into a dive, but pulled up a little when he realized he wasn't quite sure how close the ground was. After a slower descent than usual, he felt his toes brush grass and he landed a little jerkily.

"Nope," he said to Ron, who landed beside him. "That was brilliant!"

"Too right, mate!" agreed Ron. "Let's try your new Snitch."

Harry dug the little shining ball from his pocket and woke it with his wand. It fluttered to life and he tossed it into the air, following it with his eyes for a couple of seconds until he could no longer make it out. He listened for the beep and heard it growing fainter as it rose above him. He wondered how he would spot the thing across the pitch or hear the beep above the roar of an enthusiastic crowd. He seriously doubted he'd ever make the team, but he shook off that depressing thought and kicked off into the air. With the rush of wind, his doubts fell away and he enjoyed the feeling of freedom his broom afforded him.

He and Ron both flew around the pitch, going opposite directions, both scanning for the Snitch. To Harry the pitch was an indistinct gray blur, bounded on all sides by the darker stands, the hoops hiding above him in the mist of blinding glare that was the sky. He could not make out Hermione, sitting in the stands, nor could he see exactly where the stands were, but this didn't bother him. He knew where they were and pulled away from one edge just before slamming into it, his feet actually kicking off the wood as he changed direction. For the sheer joy of flying and because the sky was so bright, he closed his eyes, listening for the beep of the Snitch with all his concentration.

Too late he realized he needed to pay attention to more than just the Snitch. With the force of full speed, he accordioned directly into Ron who had been coming toward him from the other direction, also looking for the Snitch rather than looking where he was going. Harry's face hit Ron's shoulder and he felt blood begin to stream from his nose while Ron was knocked sideways from his broom. He wasn't very high and he rolled as he landed on the grass of the pitch. Harry's eyes flew open and a blast of fear filled him at the blurry expanse of nothing that confronted him. This time he landed too fast and he wrenched an ankle as he stumbled to a stop, his nose bleeding freely.

"Harry!" screamed Hermione, running toward them.

"Hey, what about me?" asked Ron self-pityingly as he got carefully to his feet, testing to see if he had anything wrenched or broken. He apparently decided he did not as he headed gingerly toward Harry who still sat collapsed on the grass, his Nimbus 2000 beside him. Harry held the back of his hand to his nose, attempting to stem the tide of gushing blood.

"I'm ok," he called to Hermione, who ran up to him and handed him a handkerchief. Harry held it to his nose and shakily got to his feet, laughing a little at the thought of the constant slapstick that his life had become. Putting weight on his ankle made him wince.

"Are you sure?" Hermione asked with concern.

"Yes!" Harry flung at her, almost angrily. "I'm fine!" He was tired of people treating like he was made of glass and might break. A nosebleed was nothing and his ankle would heal in a couple of days.

"You're going to have a lovely shiner, mate," said Ron with a rueful laugh, looking at Harry's face and rubbing his shoulder where Harry had hit him.

"Sorry about that," Harry said, limping slightly on his injured ankle.

"No, that was brilliant!" Ron laughed. "I'll watch where I'm going better next time too."

Harry handed the handkerchief back to Hermione who took it with distaste. She waved her wand over it, muttering "tersum sempre" and watching the red turn to white as she magically cleaned it. Harry and Ron kicked off again, Harry still swiping at his nose with the back of his hand.

Once in the air again, Harry turned his attention back to locating the Snitch. After three slow circles around the pitch he heard a soft beeping, but he couldn't tell from which direction it came. He turned his head from side to side, looking intently at the grayness, searching for a flash of light or any clue to tell him where the beeping was. He discovered that when he turned his head one way and then the other he could tell where the beeping came from; it came from his left, somewhat low to the ground. He headed in that direction, noticing that Ron, a dark blur to his right also had spotted it. Harry had to outfly him, even though he didn't know precisely where he was going. He picked up speed. As he got closer to the ground the glinting form of the Snitch separated itself from the haze around it and Harry pushed past Ron to reach out and grasp it.

He held it triumphantly in his hand when out of nowhere the wall of the stands rose toward him and crashed against his face, starting his nose bleeding again.

"I guess I'll stop here," he said.

"That was brilliant!" said Ron again, for once not caring that he had been beaten. "How did you get it? Did you get it just from the sound?"

"I think so," began Harry, but was interrupted by a new voice.

"You look a fright, Potter," said Draco smugly. Harry whirled to see three shapes approaching across the pitch. "You call that a landing?"

"I guess so," said Harry. "I'm down, aren't I?"

"You look like you got beat up," continued Draco. "Pity I wasn't here to do it first."

"What do you want, Draco?" asked Harry impatiently.

"I came to see the show," said Draco smugly.

"Well, we're done, now," said Ron, a note of triumph creeping into his voice. "Harry caught the Snitch."

"And he's almost in one piece to enjoy it," said Draco. "I can't wait to see you after a match."

Much as he disliked Draco's words, he knew there was an element of truth in them. He said nothing, pushing past Goyle to find Hermione and the tunnel leading to the changing rooms and out of the pitch. Wordlessly Hermione handed Harry his stick. As he shook it out, Draco called in a sing-song voice, "Poor Miss Potter and his little white stick…"

Harry whirled, but Hermione caught his arm. "He's not worth a detention," she hissed.

"Let me take him," Harry yelled, but she held his arm in a pincer-like grasp. Harry calmed down and regretfully turned to follow her out of the pitch. His cane found the sill of the door and he stepped over it, still imagining himself pounding Draco's face into the grass of the quidditch pitch.

As he limped back to the castle, Harry allowed Draco to drift out of his thoughts and the exhilaration of flying and of finally catching the Snitch to fill him. He felt almost as good as he had during his first game. He knew he had a long way to go before he was ready for tryouts, but he knew he'd taken a big first step.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just finished reading a book called Crashing Through and I based Harry's aggressive flying on the man's childhood in this book. Undaunted by his lack of sight, Mike May would run around full-tilt on the playground, unlike my own more cautious experience in PE in school! Just thought you might enjoy this bit of trivia.


	12. Chapter 12

Harry sat with the chattering group of his third-year friends at lunch. They all shared stories of spending the last two days roaming the castle and grounds as they devoured their beef stew and fresh bread.

"How did you get the black eye, Harry?" asked Dean Thomas.

Harry laughed. "Ron and I were practicing quidditch," he began.

"You were flying?" asked Neville in disbelief.

"Sure," said Harry carelessly. "It wasn't that hard, really."

"He didn't have any trouble… until he had trouble," said Hermione dryly. "He only ran into Ron and the wall both."

Laughter rippled up and down the Gryffindor table.

"He caught a Snitch!" reported Ron breathlessly.

Harry grinned, although in the back of his mind a tiny niggle of irritation protested against Ron making such a big deal about it.

"Wow, brilliant," said Seamus. "You can stay on the Gryff team then."

Harry shook his head. "I need a lot of practice before I can play in the tournament. It's really hard to find a beeping Snitch."

"Who is going to be Seeker this year?" asked Dean.

"Wood will have to get after having new tryouts, I expect," said Ron thoughtfully. "You know Ginny's a pretty fair Seeker when we play at home."

That afternoon the cloudy weather had given way to a steady downpour, so Harry, Ron and Hermione began looking for indoor diversion. Before Harry or Ron could come up with anything interesting, Hermione insisted that they all go to the Library to work on homework assignments. The two boys groaned but admitted she was right, although Harry dreaded the twenty-page reading assignment that had already been assigned in History of Magic.

They stopped by Gryffindor Tower to collect their books and then headed to the Library, walking slowly because Harry limped on his sore ankle. Once in the Library, Harry pulled out the new magnifier he'd bought at the Shop of Requirement yesterday. Opening his largest textbook, he set the flattened glass rod along the lines of text, but he found to his annoyance that even bending quite close he couldn't really make out the blurred letters. He tapped the rod with his wand, increasing the size of the text but it did not help. He pushed the book away with a sigh of frustration and sat back in his chair, stretching the tight muscles in his neck and shoulders.

"What's wrong, Harry?" whispered Hermione.

"Hmmm? Oh nothing," Harry whispered back, pulling the book toward him again.

"Liar," whispered Hermione, and Harry smothered a smile. Trust Hermione to be extra observant. Likely she'd been watching him like a hawk ever since they'd entered the Library.

"Yeah, well," Harry admitted, not knowing what else to say, but oddly glad she cared enough to notice.

Hermione snapped her book shut and stood up.

Ron looked up from his own History of Magic and sat back in his chair.

"Come on, then," Hermione said quietly.

Harry stood up with a frown and unfolded his cane. He had no idea what Hermione had in mind, but it had to be better than sitting in the Library pretending to read a book he couldn't see. He and Ron tucked their history books back into their bags and followed Hermione out into the passageway. She led them, not to Gryffindor Tower as Harry expected, but to the Transfiguration classroom.

"Professor McGonagall spoke with me last week," she explained in a rush. "She said Harry was going to need readers and a quiet place where we wouldn't disturb other students and told me we could use her classroom."

Gratitude filled Harry. Not only had Professor McGonagall arranged this for him, but Hermione had waited to tell him about it until he really needed it instead of pushing it on him the first time she'd heard. He didn't know why it meant so much to him, but her tact and sensitivity made it easier to accept her help.

Harry and Ron took seats, one on each side of Hermione; she opened her History of Magic text to the assignment and began to read swiftly and clearly about the Goblin Wars and the finding of the Treasure of Egypt. Harry was surprised how the dry assignment came to life under Hermione's narration. What he'd expected to be a boring recitation of dates and battles instead became a thrilling adventure in which wizards battled goblins over hordes of golden treasure. He thought of the goblins at Gringotts and wished he'd been a bit more polite.

They studied for most of the afternoon, Hermione reading assignments and then the three of them discussing the material until Harry felt he knew more about sleep-inducing potions than he ever had before. They went down to dinner in high spirits, laughing about the Transfiguration assignment in which Ron had attempted unsuccessfully to turn a spoon into a pile of sugar.

After dinner, Ron and Hermione headed back to Gryffindor Tower, but Harry told them he'd forgotten his magnifier in the Transfigurations classroom and planned to go back to get it. The afternoon's rainstorm had darkened the sky until every window looked inky black and the hallways were filled again with gloomy shadows.

A week of practice navigating the castle without sight had done wonders for Harry's sense of direction and confidence but to his dismay he still found himself taking a wrong turn at some point and heading up a long corridor he felt quite certain he had never encountered before. Still, he continued along it, hoping to come to some kind of landmark that would tell him where he was.

The corridor went on and on, the torches flickering dimly along the walls, the portraits silent and grim in shadowy sleep above him. Quiet filled the passageway, a stillness so loud he could hear the bouncing echoes from the tap of the end of his stick on the stone floor.

Suddenly, quite close to him, Harry knew someone was there. There had been no noise, no movement, but just the same, Harry knew that a moment ago he had been quite alone but he also knew he now was not alone at all and that he shared the corridor with a presence. He stopped, the hairs on his arms prickling. He held his breath.

The someone was breathing. He could hear it, soft and irregular, as if the person tried to conceal it but made a poor job of it. Harry looked up and down the corridor for a tall person-shaped blur, but saw nothing, only the dark hallway stretching gloomily away from him.

His first instinct was to run, like he had a week ago. But his swollen, bruised ankle would not agree this time. So he stayed where he was.

"Hello?" he asked tentatively.

"Hello, Harry," said a quiet voice, so near that he nearly jumped out of his skin.

"You know my name?" asked Harry, suddenly puzzled and still terrified. "Who are you?"

"I am sitting. Why don't you sit and I'll tell you," said the quiet voice.

"I can't… see you very well," said Harry, still unsure where to look to find the speaker.

"Yes," said the voice. "I am sorry to frighten you, but I must not be found here in the castle."

Thoroughly confused, Harry felt for the wall to his right, found it and put his back to it, sliding down it until he was sitting on the stone floor, across from the voice, as near as he could tell. He sat listening as hard as he could, trying to gather clues about this person who sat hiding in a quiet out-of-the way upstairs corridor.

"I'm sitting," Harry said finally. "Who are you?"

"I am your godfather," said the voice unexpectedly.

"My godfather?" Harry asked, startled. "I did not know I had a godfather."

"I have been away for a long time," said the voice wearily. "But I have come back to find you and protect you. I have failed for far too long."

"Failed?" Harry asked.

"I know who attacked you this summer," said the voice. "I tried to prevent it. Finally, since I could do nothing else I sent the elf, Dobby, to rescue you."

"You sent Dobby? You know what happened?" Harry's mind spun with questions. The quiet voice seemed to raise two questions with every one question it answered.

"Did you know that one of the Death Eaters is a werewolf?" the voice asked.

There it was again. A werewolf. "No," said Harry, waiting tensely in the dark.

"His name's Fenrir Greyback. Well, I guess he's not technically a Death Eater, although he certainly allied himself with Voldemort back in the day."

Harry noticed that his unknown companion said "Voldemort," not "You-Know-Who" like everyone else. Harry felt his respect for this odd stranger rise a fraction. "What did he want with me?" asked Harry.

"That's the thing, isn't it?" said the voice. "You're the reason Lord Voldemort disappeared. Greyback had been using Lord Voldemort's influence to his own ends."

"But…"

"Let me back up. Fenrir Greyback has one aim in life. To create an army of werewolves and take over the wizarding world. I suppose he eventually wants the muggles as well, knowing him."

Harry wondered how the voice knew so much about Greyback. Just at that moment, the voice drew in a ragged breath that sounded almost like a growl and Harry rose to his feet again, his cane held tightly in his clenched fists.

"I-I-I need to get back," he said hurriedly. At this moment the thought flashed through his mind that the shadow in the hallway was Greyback himself and Harry wanted nothing more than to run.

"Sit down," said the voice even more softly and with another rumbling growl. "Now if I wanted to hurt you, do you think I would be sitting here telling you all of this?"

Harry slid back down the wall again, frowning. It was true that the first attack had come swiftly without warning or explanation from the darkness.

"Why did he send a killing curse?" asked Harry. "Why not bite me or whatever werewolves do."

"That I am not sure," said the voice. "I assume he wanted you out of the way for good."

"Why are you telling me all of this?" Harry asked warily.

"I want to help you," the voice repeated.

"Then why sit around up here in the dark?" said Harry suspiciously.

"Err, well, it's complicated. You see, Remus and I…"

At that moment a voice called down the corridor, "Harry!"

With a swirl of robes the voice was gone. Harry did not even hear footfalls, but heavy soft tread as a shadow loped away from him down the hallway. After another moment, Ron called his name again. Harry pounded a fist in frustration. He had been so close to getting answers.

Finally he answered Ron. "Here," he called, his frustration evaporating as he heard the worry in Ron's voice.

"There you are, mate," Ron said. "You were gone so long Hermione sent me to see if you'd gotten lost. When I found your reading thing in the Transfiguration room, I knew you hadn't been there.

"Thanks, mate, I did get lost," said Harry, still peering down the dark hallway after the retreating shadow.

He rose to his feet again and limped alongside Ron back to Gryffindor Tower, pondering the conversation he'd just had. He wondered whether to tell his friends and decided to wait. He wanted to find the stranger again, to ask him why he hid from everyone, who he really was. Harry wanted answers. Little did he know he was destined for far more questions before he solved the riddles that lay before him.


	13. Chapter 13

Monday morning came far too soon for Harry's taste and Transfiguration class seemed to smack him across the face. His ankle nagged at him, still much more painful than he would have expected. He hadn't slept well; his dreams had been full of shadowy, unseen voices and leaping werewolves attacking him from the dark. As a result, his head felt fuzzy and to his dismay he could see even less than usual. The least amount of light made his head pound and the contrast of darker objects looked much less distinct. He wondered briefly if maybe his eyesight was actually failing, little by little, but he put that thought out of his head, unable to face it. It was just the headache, he told himself.

Worse still, he and Ron had gotten into a row at breakfast. Ron wanted to know what happened the night before and Harry wouldn't tell him. For the rest of the meal, Ron acted waspish and short with both Harry and Hermione, who finally lost patience with them both and moved to another seat. Harry sat glumly eating his eggs and toast, feeling very much alone.

All in all, he felt he was in less than top form when he entered the Transfiguration classroom and he was less than pleased to have Professor McGonagall pull him aside and tell him he was expected in Dumbledore's office after lunch for his follow-up meeting. The last thing he needed was another go at answering probing questions from teachers.

He flung himself toward a desk, only to find that the chair was missing. Laughter and a few sympathetic noises grew around him as he picked himself sheepishly off the floor and located another desk, this time with a chair.

The lesson continued the teaspoon transfigurations they had begun last week and Harry took a perverse pleasure in knowing how Ron struggled with this particular task. For Harry himself, since he could feel the spoon on the desk and aim his wand accordingly, he had surprisingly good luck. It helped, he supposed, that so much of his visual world existed now in his imagination. He found himself picturing people and objects all the time; everything he couldn't see existed now as an image in his memory or even an invented figure if he'd never actually seen someone, like Professor Lupin. He'd almost forgotten he had no idea what Professor Lupin really looked like since his mental image of him was so clear.

Since transfiguration required him to visualize the goal object, he found that all the imagination practice helped him considerably. It also helped that he couldn't see the original object; he tended to get fewer leftover details, such as the silver color that Ron could not seem to shed from his pile of sugar. Harry transfigured the spoon into sugar and back a couple of times, partly to show off and partly because he really liked the fact that he was finally better at something than he'd been before he'd lost his sight. Everything else seemed like such a struggle, it was nice to have something go right.

During Charms, he had more trouble. Professor Flitwick insisted that Harry sit at the front of the class even though it did nothing to help the blackboard come into focus. Frustration and self-consciousness ate at Harry when he heard groups of friends whispering chummily behind him while he sat isolated. Then there was the Charms assignment. In his squeaky voice, small Professor Flitwick assigned them each a box of pins and requested that they be made to do ballet while he played a scratchy recording of classical music.

Harry despised the ballet; he had never once been to see one. Combined with the fact that the minuscule straight pins insisted on skittering away from his clumsy fingers, he doubted he'd ever have any success with them at all. His headache returned with full force and he sat and glared at the corps de broches who refused to dance, although a few moved feebly along the desktop.

Lunchtime at last arrived. Harry did not feel much like eating but he followed the mob of students down to the Great Hall anyway, taking a seat as far from the other third-years as he could find. He toyed with the food and as soon as possible excused himself in order to have more time to find Dumbledore's office before his meeting.

He limped along the corridor, counting lefts and rights as passageways branched off away from him. He and Professor Lupin had practiced this route so if he thought about it, he knew how to get there. The problem was, his head ached so badly he found it difficult to concentrate. Still, he found the stone gargoyle at the end of ten minutes and realized this was the first time since coming to Hogwarts he'd managed not to get lost. This thought cheered him immensely and he gave the password to the stone gargoyle and stood on the moving staircase with much lighter spirits than he'd had previously.

When he knocked, Dumbledore did not answer and Harry tried the door. Finding it unlocked, he pushed it open and went in. Nothing stirred in the office but Fawkes, the Phoenix, shuffling on his perch. Harry stroked the bird's feathers, noticing how patchy and ragged they felt. Apparently Fawkes neared the time of his death and rebirth, which meant right now he looked old and weary. Harry could relate. At this moment Harry wanted nothing more than a dark room and a soft bed. He stood absentmindedly stroking Fawkes when the door opened and Professor Dumbledore strode into the room.

"Aah, Harry, I am glad to see you," said the Headmaster genially. "Would you like some tea?"

"No thank you," said Harry, turning and subtly feeling with his cane for a chair. He found it and sat with a sigh.

"Professor McGonagall will not be joining us this afternoon as she had an urgent matter to attend to; something about a swamp, complete with frogs, in the third-floor boys' bathroom," said Dumbledore with a twinkle.

Harry grinned. The Weasley twins had apparently gotten bored already.

"I see you have discovered the Shop of Requirement," began Dumbledore, to Harry's astonishment.

"Y-y-you know about the Shop of Requirement?" he asked.

"Of course," answered Dumbledore cheerfully. "It's a little-known fact that I struggle with… I suppose today it is called… a learning disability. For a time in school I had great difficulty reading. It was for this reason I forced myself to specialize in the study of Runes. I needed the practice."

Harry's jaw dropped. He'd never considered that Professor Dumbledore, the most respected wizard in Britain, might have a disability. "I had no idea," he said.

"Few people do," said Dumbledore calmly. "I consider the work I have had to do in order to adapt and overcome it to be quite good for my character and work ethic," he went on.

"I'm glad you see some good in it," muttered Harry.

"Are you finding yours a trifle difficult to manage?" asked Dumbledore, kindly curious.

"Yes," said Harry simply. Dumbledore did not offer platitudes, to Harry's relief.

"Yes," he said simply. "This condition is relatively new to you, after all. It will take some getting used to…"

"I don't want to get used to it," Harry burst out, shocked at his temerity and force of emotion. "I don't want to keep living like this. Everything is so…" He groped for words.

"…damn hard?" supplied Dumbledore and Harry nodded.

"I suppose this is the point where I am expected to tell you that it will get easier, that you need to accept it and just go on," said Dumbledore, "but I won't. Only you know whether it will get easier to live with a vision loss or whether it will continue to be incredibly inconvenient."

Inconvenient. That seemed an odd choice of words to Harry. Not impossible or agonizing, as Harry might have said. He wondered how Dumbledore had struggled when he was in school, wrestling with the very things that everyone else took for granted, working long hours at what others found simple. Was that what produced in him such calmness now?

Harry scrubbed his face with his hands. He would keep going. He had to. The alternative, trapped in a lonely room at Privet Drive loomed always before him and he could not face that.

"I'll be ok," he said finally.

"That's the spirit, lad," said Dumbledore. "Fake it 'till you make it," he added with a chuckle.

"Err, yeah," Harry agreed, but could not bring himself to laugh. "May I go now?"

"Do you have any further questions or concerns with your classwork?" asked Dumbledore.

Harry considered. He could hardly complain about the dancing pins since he would have had the same trouble with that assignment even if he could see. Of course, he dreaded Potions tomorrow, but he had his Bitumus paper and he thought he could muddle through. Hermione had read aloud his other assignments with no complaints, and to his surprise, he enjoyed the study sessions.

"No," he said finally. "None of it is impossible, just a lot harder."

"Good," said Dumbledore cheerfully, ignoring the last part of Harry's statement. "On your way, then and have a lemon drop."

This time Harry accepted the lemon drop, although the sour taste puckered his tongue. As Professor Lupin had taught him, he used his stick to find the door handle and was soon down the stairs and standing in the hallway next to the gargoyle. Since he had a study break for the afternoon, he limped off toward Gryffindor Tower and plopped himself into one of the squashy armchairs in front of the fire.

For quite a long time, he sat brooding and staring into the moving flames. Somehow their movement calmed him, always different, yet ever the same. Their light only pained him a little and he felt mesmerized by their patternless movement.

He had nearly drifted off to sleep when something jumping onto his lap startled him awake. He sat up, heart pounding, but soon discovered it was only Hermione's cat. He rolled his eyes and settled back into the chair, stroking its soft sides. It settled, purring into a ball on his lap and went to sleep. Harry's eyes began to droop once again.

The portrait hole opened with a bang and several people climbed into the common room. From their laughter and chatter, Harry made out Ron, Dean, and Seamus's voices. Frowning, he refused to look toward Ron, keeping his eyes down as if completely taken with Crookshanks on his lap.

"Oy, Harry," called Ron. "Come up to the dorm with us! Seamus's mum sent him a whole new pack of Chocolate Frog cards and we're going to go see which ones he got."

Harry's heart leaped. Ron wasn't still mad! But he wasn't sure he wanted to leave his pity party quite yet. After all, he couldn't see the cards anyway.

"Not this time, mate," he said lazily, still not looking in Ron's direction.

Ron broke away from the group and leaned over the back of Harry's chair. "Oh, come on," he cajoled, "you're not doing anything here but encouraging that stupid cat. It's going to eat Scabbers yet if we don't watch it."

"Oh, all right," said Harry with an exaggerated yawn, rising and stretching his arms.

He followed the three boys up the stairs to the dorm, where Seamus spread the pack of cards out on his bed. Harry had been right that he would not be able to tell the cards apart, but from the shouts of mirth coming from the other boys, he found he had a pretty good idea which ones Seamus had received. Each boy pulled his own collection from his trunk and they spent a happy afternoon comparing, swapping and examining the cards, as well as chasing around the dormitory the groups of chocolate frogs who seemed intent on making good their escape.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some white cane trivia:   
They were never made of cane. They started as wooden support canes painted white, then much later the long, straight white cane was invented and manufactured of a lightweight aluminum or graphite. Of course, in the wizarding world they probably also have useful charms such as making a noise when they encounter a puddle of water!


	14. Chapter 14

Two signs appeared on the notice board in the Gryffindor common room that week. The first, Ron told Harry, announced that tryouts would be held next week for the positions of Chaser and Seeker on the Gryffindor quidditch team. Harry felt his stomach clench. He'd known this was coming but having it there for all to read didn't make it any easier.

"You should try out, mate," said Ron.

"Try out for my own position," muttered Harry. "Wood didn't even talk to me about being cut." More than anything, he thought, that stung.

The other notice informed them about the first scheduled visit to the village of Hogsmeade. "All students, third year and above," read Hermione to Harry, "will be allowed to attend the weekend outing with a signed permission from a parent or guardian."

"Oh brilliant," said Harry sarcastically. "The Dursleys won't sign mine, I know it."

"You could ask Professor McGonagall to sign it," suggested Ron.

Harry applied this suggestion on Saturday morning as the students bound for Hogsmeade lined up with their permission forms. To his dismay, Professor McGonagall refused, stating flatly that the rules did not allow for anyone other than a parent or guardian to sign the form. Angrily, Harry stomped back up to his dorm as Ron and Hermione blithely walked through the late-September frost to the village where any number of delights awaited.

Harry sat glumly in the Gryffindor common room staring at the fire. He was so wrapped up in his thoughts he hardly noticed when someone entered the room and sat down in a chair opposite him.

"Harry?" the voice sounded timid. Harry looked up. A dark blur. Who was it?

"Hi," he said as brightly as he could manage, hoping desperately that whoever had greeted him would give him more clues before he was forced to admit he had no idea who it was.

"Why aren't you at Hogsmeade?" The voice was light, definitely a girl. His mind raced through the list of girls he knew, but he still wasn't sure.

"My relatives didn't sign my permission form," he said grumpily. "How about you?"

"Well, second-years aren't allowed to go," she explained patiently and Harry suddenly knew it was Ginny Weasley.

"Oh, of course," Harry said in a self-deprecating tone. "How stupid of me."

"It must really stink not to be able to go," continued Ginny and Harry wondered why she thought she needed to rub salt in the wound.

"Well, err, yeah it does," said Harry, giving her a puzzled look.

"Maybe you can still get there," she said in a conspiratorial tone.

"What do you mean?" asked Harry, now completely asea.

Ginny pulled something out of her pocket and held it up. "I nicked it from Fred and George last summer," she said with delight.

"What is it?" Harry asked, intrigued.

"The Marauder's Map," said Ginny in a low, confidential tone. "Last summer I spied on Fred and George quite a bit. I mean, growing up with them you learn to watch your back anyway, but I decided to really learn what they were up to. They didn't even suspect their sweet little sister," she explained, a touch of bitterness lacing her voice, as if being the youngest and never being taken seriously had eaten at her. "So," she said briskly and spread the map on the table.

"I solemnly swear I am up to no good," she said, touching the map with her wand.

She and Harry both stared at the parchment. "I'm afraid," he said awkwardly, "I can't see it."

"That's all right," said Ginny without concern, "I can."

Harry frowned and looked at her. "What does it say?"

"It's a map of Hogwarts," she said, peering closely at it. "It's really tiny though."

Harry pulled out his bubble magnifier from his pocket and wordlessly handed it to her.

"Oh, brilliant," she said and set the glass on the map. "It shows where all the people are and, hey!" Her voice rose with excitement.

"What?" asked Harry impatiently.

"Yes, this is what I was looking for," she said with gusto.

"What?" Harry asked again, louder.

"Ssshhh," she cautioned. "The secret passages."

"Secret passages?" Harry whispered, grinning.

"Yeah, one goes right to Hogsmeade."

"Brilliant," breathed Harry, sitting back in his chair.

"Shall we?" asked Ginny brightly, standing to her feet.

"Hold on," Harry said, leaping up and heading to his dorm, taking the now-familiar stairs two at a time. He collected his cane, a few galleons, and his Invisibility Cloak, which he hadn't used yet this year, he realized.

"What's that?" asked Ginny when he entered the common room again.

"A white cane?" he said teasingly.

"No, idiot," she responded in kind. "That."

Of course, Harry couldn't see her pointing but he had no doubt to what she referred. "Shhh," he said, imitating her. "I'll show you."

Leaning his cane against a nearby chair, he swirled the Cloak around his shoulders, enjoying the gasp of surprise from Ginny as he disappeared.

"Wow, I didn't know those really existed," she said excitedly. Harry grinned to himself as he silently slid around the sofa toward her. She shrieked when he unexpectedly pinched her and she tried to find him to return the favor.

"No fair," she said, "I can't see you."

"Actually, totally fair," responded Harry smugly, grinning as he whirled the Cloak back off. "It finally makes us even."

"Harry," she said a little shyly, "can you see at all?"

By this time, Harry didn't mind questions about his eyesight. He found it was easier to have people around him understand what he could or couldn't see rather than try to pretend everything was normal. He explained in as few words as possible what the world looked like.

"Oh," said Ginny uncertainly. "Oh, that must be awful."

"I'm getting used to it," said Harry airily, pushing down the memories of his recent slump into depression. "I mean it's not exactly a picnic, you know? But it's not the end of the world. It's mostly… just inconvenient."

She chuckled and started for the portrait hole.

She led Harry along a confusing series of passages and corridors until she stood before a stone figure that Harry at first thought was Dumbledore's gargoyle.

"Here it is," she said triumphantly. "The One-eyed Witch." She peered at the map again. "Dissendium," she read, tapping the statue with her wand. Stones ground against one another and a draught of cold air brushed Harry's cheek. He touched the statue, but didn't have time to really examine it with his hands.

"What did it do?" he asked Ginny.

"Her hump-back opens up," said Ginny with smothered laughter. She pocketed the map and led the way into the tunnel. Harry followed a little more cautiously until he had determined that a series of steps led downward. The light from the corridor faded leaving Ginny and Harry in complete darkness.

"Lumos," said Harry but flinched as the light from his wand-tip pierced his eyes with pain, shedding no useful light into the corridor at all. He quickly extinguished it again, grumbling "well that didn't work."

"It worked," said Ginny in confusion.

"No, I mean it doesn't help and it really hurt my eyes," explained Harry.

"Oh," said Ginny out of the darkness. She stood still against the chilly wall of the passageway. "So what do we do?"

"I'm not sure," said Harry. "Try yours."

Ginny lit her wand while Harry looked away. The brilliant light still hurt, but it was farther away and he decided not to say anything, but let Ginny get a ways ahead of him until the light faded down the tunnel before he began making his own way along the passage, using his hands and the tip of his stick more than his eyes to find his way.

He did not realize how far ahead he had allowed her to get until he reached a crossing of ways. Two tunnels joined here and he had no idea which route to follow. He called, "Ginny?" but heard no answer so he decided to simply choose the right-hand one and keep going.

Feeling his way along, it seemed slow going; still, not more than fifteen minutes passed until his stick found a stairway again. Above him, he could see cracks of brilliant daylight showing through a wooden trap door. There was no sign of Ginny.

Something made Harry cautious. He put on his Invisibility Cloak and listened at the trap door rather than opening it. He was glad he did.

"…that puny puppy," said one voice, a low gravelly one.

"We shouldn't count on him for help," said another, a higher, rather whiny voice. He spoke so quietly that Harry had trouble catching all of his words. "…Dumbledore's pet."

"The next full moon is in one week. We'll find out then where his loyalties lie," said the first voice.

"Perhaps a little… persuasion," agreed the second voice. "I've sent another owl to…"

"Maugrim!" said the first voice with a snarl. "That whelp cannot be trusted."

"Still," whined the second voice, "he's quite a … and doesn't … to our cause."

"True," said the first voice thoughtfully. "If he sends an owl, then do it."

"… many moons … take until we can finish … little beggars up at the castle?" asked the second voice quietly.

"Patience," advised the first voice. "Achieving our ultimate goal is ultimately more vital than…"

"Ultimate goal, indeed," interrupted the second voice. "You certainly did not achieve anything when you let Harry Potter slip away like that…"

The first voice responded with something like a growl of derision. "It won't happen a second time," he promised and Harry shivered.

"… three from Bulgaria, seven from … and Romulus and Vrikodare from…" the second voice said as if reciting or reading from a list.

"It will take time to gather them all. But they will come," said the first voice.

The two fell silent for quite a long time, packing items with a series of thuds and thumps. Then without another word, they both headed out of the room. Harry decided not to risk opening the trap door, so he descended the stairs again to go find Ginny. His heart beat quickly as he considered what he'd just heard. One of the voices belonged possibly to Fenrir Greyback, the werewolf who had attacked Harry during the summer, if Harry's "godfather" was correct. He was here, somewhere, very close to Hogwarts and he planned to try again to kill Harry. Not only that, but were other students in danger? And who was the "puppy" they planned to try to turn?

Harry wondered if he could find his "godfather." So far he'd only encountered the voice in the darkness when he'd been lost. Perhaps he could lose himself on purpose and find the corridor again. It might be worth a try. He needed some answers and he needed them soon.

He felt his way back along the tunnel with a steady, deliberate pace. When he got to the crossing of the ways, he stopped, unsure what he should do. Should he find Ginny or go back to the castle right that minute? He stood for a moment, undecided.

"Harry?" Ginny's voice called along the left-hand tunnel.

"Shh! Ginny!" Harry warned in a stage whisper, fearful that the echoes of her voice would carry back along the passage to where the two men waited.

"Where are you?" she asked, her wand-light preceding her from the passageway. Harry realized he still had the Invisibility Cloak on. He shrugged it off and she gave a startled little squeak.

"Come on! This way is Honeydukes. It's brilliant! I guess you just missed the way in the dark." She actually took his hand, pulling him along the left-hand way.

"No, err, actually," he protested, pulling his hand free. "I, err, I'm not feeling so well. I think I'll just go back."

"Oh," she said, crestfallen. "Are you ok?"

"Oh, yeah, yeah," he assured her, then realized she had been counting on him to join in her adventure, which suddenly seemed to him to be completely trivial. "Maybe next time, yes?"

She sighed. "I'll come back with you, I guess."

She followed behind Harry, her wand throwing his looming, swaying shadow out in front of them. His thoughts raced, wondering how he could get away and go find his "godfather" once they reached the castle. He found the stairs and soon the two popped free of the one-eyed witch into an unremarkable third-floor corridor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's note: Yes, I made the two secret passages join with each other. And I made Ginny into a sneaky little thief who can best even Fred and George! I know this is a wide deviation from canon, but I needed it to be this way in order for future events to happen. I hope the purists can forgive me.


	15. Chapter 15

For nearly an hour Harry wandered the halls, his ankle beginning to scream in protest. He'd left Ginny at Gryffindor Tower, muttering some lame excuse he'd rapidly forgotten. Then he went and deliberately tried to get lost, hoping that was the magic formula to finding his mysterious "godfather."

It hadn't worked.

Now he was frustrated, hungry, tired and limping again. He wondered how, after getting lost innumerable times during the past two weeks, he could manage to not get lost at all when he was trying. He'd found his way from the top of the astronomy tower all the way down to the dungeons and had not found the long corridor where he'd twice met the mysterious shadowy presence.

Finally, he gave up and went to lunch.

[break]

All week long Ginny avoided Harry. To be sure, their paths didn't cross much anyway, but he felt the sting of her avoidance like a cold wind aimed at him whenever she happened to be in the same room with him. It was as though she went out of her way to make sure he knew she was there then pointedly ignored him. He supposed she was entitled. After all, she had shared her Map with him and he'd unintentionally brushed her off.

Harry tried not to care. His week had been so busy with classes and studying with Ron and Hermione, along with practicing quidditch in the evenings, he always tumbled into bed at night completely exhausted, so he didn't have a lot of time to dwell on Ron's little sister.

Flying had been going well. He and Ron went out to the pitch after dinner, in the gloaming as the daylight faded. Harry found he could see the best in this half-light and he was getting faster at locating the Snitch by its insistent beeping then flying toward it until he could see it and grab it. Ron generally beat him to it, however, and Harry had his doubts about the outcome of the tryouts, especially since Ginny in her current state of upset would try her hardest to beat him.

Saturday morning dawned sunny and warm. Most students hailed the late-summer sun with delight but Harry inwardly groaned. The light put him at a significant disadvantage. But he'd determined to try out and to simply do his best. He wondered why a position for chaser was open, since Angelina Johnson and Alicia Spinnet were both 5th years. He supposed he'd find out at the tryouts.

Although he and Ron arrived early at the quidditch pitch, a crowd of eager Gryffindors had gathered, eager to watch the tryouts, in particular, the battle for Seeker. They had heard that Harry meant to try out and most were intensely curious how he would be able to play at all since wild rumors had circulated about his accident and subsequent blindness; the rumors exacerbated by the white stick he now carried everywhere.

Harry ignored the whispering crowd and took a seat with Ron in the stands to await Oliver Wood and the beginning of the tryouts.

"Why are they trying out a new chaser?" Harry asked Ron while they waited.

"Haven't you heard?" Ron asked, rhetorically. "Katie Bell's parents withdrew her from Hogwarts. I guess she's going to Beauxbatons, but I don't think she's very happy about it. They don't even have a quidditch team!"

Harry shook his head. "Why would they withdraw her?" he asked.

"They say it's because of the dementors or something about not liking the current staff here. Her father worked at St. Mungo’s, you know, with Professor Lupin. Maybe he doesn't like him for some reason."

Harry frowned, remembering Lupin's remarks on his previous job. He could not understand the prejudice when Lupin seemed like a perfectly decent chap.

Harry's thoughts were interrupted by Oliver Wood announcing the beginning of tryouts.

"Welcome, Gryffindors!" called Wood, to a smattering of applause. "First, we'll choose a new chaser to replace Katie. Would all those who are interested please line up on the pitch."

Wood, Fred, and George then mounted their brooms and took to the air, which was soon full of flying Bludgers and a Quaffle. The chasers had to get the Quaffle past Wood and through one of the hoops in the time allotted. Fred and George helped to watch for the best flyers along with batting Bludgers to simulate a real match.

Ron, watching from the stands, did his best to narrate the action for Harry but he kept getting over-excited, standing to his feet and yelling. When this happened he completely forgot to tell Harry what was happening.

"Who got it?" asked Harry for the umpteenth time.

"Vicky Frobisher," said Ron with delight. "She's the best flyer by far. She made it past Wood twice. She's going to get it for sure."

Ron's prediction came true a few minutes later as all the potential chasers landed and Oliver Wood proclaimed Vicky the new backup chaser. Cheers erupted from the watching Gryffindors.

"Now we'll take potentials for the position of Seeker," called Wood. Harry stood, thinking about how long it would take to make his way down from the stands and onto the Pitch. All at once he had an idea. Grinning, he handed his folded cane to Ron, mounted his broom where he was up on the middle of the stands and kicked off into the air. Flying toward the blur in the middle of the pitch that he assumed was Wood, he dove as fast as he dared, pulled up and landed neatly beside Wood. The watching Gryffindors cheered.

"Show-off," muttered Ginny as she walked toward them.

Harry pulled his beeping Snitch from his pocket. "If it's all right, I'd like to use this," he said, handing the Snitch to Wood who tapped it with his wand, bringing the sparkling ball to life.

"Err, I'm not sure," began Oliver Wood. "Is this legal?" he called to Madame Hooch, who stood at the edge of the Pitch, overseeing the tryouts. She hurried over.

"A beeping Snitch?" she asked. "I can double-check the rule book but I am pretty sure there is no rule against using a Snitch with a beeper. Since both players will be using the same Snitch, it would not give one player an unfair advantage."

Harry opened his mouth to mention that one player having sight was an unfair advantage, but he quickly closed it again. If he wanted to play on a sighted team, he had to play as a sighted player, or as near to it as he could. He took a deep breath.

"Okay," said Wood, tossing the Snitch into the air.

Harry and Ginny kicked off and began circling the pitch. As he had feared, Harry found that the noise of the spectators made the Snitch more difficult to hear but he concentrated as he had learned in practice, turning his head from side to side to catch the faintest beeping sound. He could not hear it anywhere. Squinting against the sun, Harry made another pass, listening as hard as he could. By this time he could not even hear the crowd, his concentration was so intense. It occurred to him that he might be flying too low; perhaps the Snitch hid itself higher up in the air as it had done in several of last year's matches. He began to fly higher, still listening hard.

When he felt a rush of air behind him, he grinned. Ginny had followed him up, never a good strategy. It told Harry she had not spotted the Snitch either and that she thought perhaps he knew where it had hidden itself.

Suddenly, like the chirping of a very far-off cricket, Harry heard the beep. He'd guessed wrong that it was high; the beep came from far below him. The minute he heard it, Harry dove, adrenaline surging up in him as he hurtled toward the ground he could not see. As he got lower, Harry knew he was aiming too far to the left. The Snitch was in the middle of the pitch, probably hiding right next to Wood himself. This was going to be tricky to find it, capture it and land without taking out Wood or plunging into the grass.

His steep dive had given him a few precious seconds on Ginny, but he knew she would be right behind him. Harry flew toward Wood, the blurry dark shape of the team captain giving him a landmark to determine where the ground was. As he'd expected, a flash of light bounced off the glowing Snitch just behind Wood and the beep sounded loud and sure.

In a split second, Harry decided on a kamikaze move. He would crash next to Wood, hopefully not into him and grab the Snitch before Ginny could pull out of her dive. With his left hand outstretched toward Wood, in an attempt to avoid running into him, Harry leaned into his last few feet. His hand barely touched Wood's robe and then he pounced on the Snitch, clasping it in both hands and rolling off his broom onto the grass in one motion. At the same moment, Wood leaped aside, convinced Harry would crash directly into him.

Oliver Wood laughed aloud as Harry stood breathlessly to his feet, the Snitch held high in his triumphant hand.

"That was some dive," he said above the cheers and chatter from the watching crowd. Ginny landed beside them.

"Harry Potter retains his position as Seeker!" yelled Wood and the Gryffindors screamed and pounded the stands.

"Well done," said Ginny grudgingly, but then she laughed too. "You're an idiot to dive that fast, even if you could see!"

Harry laughed and agreed. He didn't mention the heart-stopping feeling of diving toward absolute nothingness, but it did add an extra element of excitement, he supposed wryly. He'd half expected the teachers to veto his playing but to his delight, Madame Hooch said nothing about it when she came over to congratulate him.

"Nice job, mate," said Ron clapping him on the back and handing him the folded cane. "Not the most graceful bit of flying but it got the job done."

Grinning from ear to ear, Harry headed back to the castle, surrounded by friends and fellow Gryffindors, all talking loudly about Harry's unexpected catch and the fearless dive. Even Ginny seemed to come out of her funk and joined in the banter. Harry wished he could hold onto this moment forever.


	16. Chapter 16

Harry, Ron, and Hermione sat lazily in the Transfigurations classroom three weeks before Halloween. They had just finished a particularly long History of Magic reading assignment and they were discussing it along with the essay that had been assigned in Defense Against the Dark Arts.

"Wasn't it weird to have Professor Snape as a substitute teacher?" asked Ron.

Harry shivered. Potions class continued to be a tense, hit-or-miss experience, sometimes a success and sometimes an epic failure. Professor Snape, while he continued to belittle Harry in front of the snickering Slytherins, dropped just enough useful information to allow Harry to limp along without actually failing the class. To have to see him in Defense seemed like adding insult to injury.

"I wonder why he assigned that long essay on werewolves," said Hermione, thoughtfully. "It's almost as if he wanted to tell us something."

"Because he's barking mad," came Ron's conclusion.

"I'm not so sure," said Hermione. "You know, I was reading a book in the Library the other day called Werewolves, Vampyres and Zombies."

"Nice," said Harry. "A little light, girlish reading?"

"Oh stuff it," replied Hermione cheerfully. "I discovered that werewolves…"

"…aren't affected by the dementors," finished Harry smugly. He wished he could see Hermione's jaw drop as it surely did.

"How in the world did you know that?" she asked incredulously. "I mean you didn't read it… I think I would know if you did."

Harry laughed. "Books aren't the only source of information on werewolves, you know."

"Err, just what might your source be, then, Mr. Brilliant?" she asked.

"The Shrieking Shack," supplied Ron and it was Harry's turn to look startled.

"What?" cried Hermione.

"Ginny told me about the Marauder's Map," explained Ron. "She had her knickers all in a twist back before the quidditch tryouts because Harry had been going to sneak into Hogsmeade with her through the secret passages."

"What in the world does that have to do with the Shrieking Shack and werewolves?" asked Hermione.

"I took a wrong turn in the tunnels," said Harry, taking over the story. "I guess I was under the Shrieking Shack, but I heard a couple of werewolves talking. The same one that attacked me last summer."

"Wh-what?" squealed Hermione. "Why didn't you tell us?"

"How did you know, Ron?" asked Harry, rounding on his friend.

"Ginny put two and two together. She went back later and listened some more."

"Oh great," said Harry.

"What are they planning?" asked Hermione. "I mean if they are going to attack the castle, we should warn Dumbledore."

"Yeah, sure he'll believe us kids," said Harry sarcastically.

"He might," said Hermione defensively.

"They said something about turning one of us to their side," said Harry slowly.

"That's it!" cried Hermione suddenly.

"What?" asked Harry and Ron together.

"I think…" she began but stopped. "I think… but if I tell you, promise you won't tell a soul."

"Promise," they said.

"I think Professor Lupin is a werewolf too. No, wait," she said before they could voice their startled protests.

"Look, he was sick right at the full moon. All the signs in Professor Snape's essay about how to recognize a werewolf fit."

"We haven't written the essay yet," muttered Harry.

"Well, we should get after it," said Hermione, pulling a roll of parchment out of her bag.

Harry pulled a rather battered piece of parchment out of his own bag, thinking about Hermione's words.

"Do you suppose that's why they sacked him from St. Mungo's?" he asked.

"What do you mean, sacked?" asked Hermione suspiciously.

"He told me back when he was giving me mobility lessons," said Harry. "He used to work at St. Mungo's but they let him go. He acted like it was totally unfair but he didn't say why."

"I bet that's it," said Hermione. "People didn't want a werewolf working with fragile, recovering people."

"You know," said Ron, "it's got to be the same reason Katie Bell's parents pulled her out of Hogwarts."

"True," agreed Harry. "Didn't you say her dad works at St. Mungo's?"

"That's right," said Ron. "He probably knew about Lupin and did not want him teaching his daughter."

"But Lupin won't join Greyback's gang, will he?" asked Harry. "I mean that's the real question."

"Won't he?" asked Ron.

"Of course not," retorted Harry hotly. "He's not like that at all."

"But he's a werewolf," insisted Ron.

Hermione had begun busily writing on her parchment. "Listen to this, she announced, "werewolves cannot be harmed with the unforgiveable curses," she said.

Harry pulled his parchment close. His handwriting, never very good, had degraded dismally during the past year. He couldn't see his own writing and could only keep the lines of text from crossing one another by pressing his nose to the parchment. More than once he had gone to class with a smudge of ink on his nose, much to Draco's hilarious amusement. Since he couldn't read what he wrote, he'd gotten in the habit of asking Hermione to read over what he'd written and she usually sighed with frustration at his nearly unreadable scribbles.

He really needed to find a better solution to the reading/writing problem. He'd been putting it off, but what he was doing barely worked and his grades reflected it. More than once in Potions, Snape had returned an essay with no grade, snarling to Harry that he would not try to decipher Harry's chicken scratches.

For now, Harry did not know what the solution was, so he started in on Snape's werewolf essay in the usual manner, pressing his nose to the parchment and hoping that what he wrote was somewhat legible.

"So if you can't kill a werewolf with the Avada Kedavra curse and dementors have no effect, how do you kill one?" asked Ron.

"I'm not sure," said Hermione slowly, pulling her book toward her. In his mind's eye, Harry could see the thoughtful frown on her face and her bushy brown hair as it tumbled around her face.

"Here it is," she said triumphantly after paging through the book for several minutes. "Silver."

"Silver?" asked Ron. "Silver, like what?"

"Things made of silver," she said. "Silver bullets, silver swords, you know."

"Only Muggles use bullets," said Harry. "And they're not made of silver, I don't think. But a silver sword…"

"That reminds me of the legend of Gryffindor and the grim," said Hermione. "Do you think it was a werewolf he killed?"

"Why not a grim?" asked Harry.

"Because they don't exist," said Ron practically.

"They might," said Hermione. "I mean who would have thought werewolves and wizards existed. I didn't before the Hogwarts letter."

"They don't," said Ron impatiently. "They're like… you know… an omen. Something people dream about or see in tea leaves or such rot. They aren't actual dogs."

"What I saw in the corridor was an actual dog," said Harry thoughtfully.

"Harry, I hate to remind you, mate," said Ron, "But you haven't been able to see much of anything this whole year. I mean, look at you…"

Harry sat up and rubbed at his nose with the back of his hand. "You don't have to believe me. But I'm sure." He still hadn't told them about the conversation in the darkness. He still wanted to find the stranger again and ask him to explain what he meant. So far, though he'd explored the corridors several times, he had not encountered him again.

Harry thought about Lupin and how kind he had been to Harry; of all the teachers he'd shown Harry the most respect and greatest understanding. Harry couldn't believe he'd join with Fenrir Greyback. It simply could not be true. But could Lupin have been sent ahead by Greyback for the very purpose of befriending Harry? Could he have inadvertently been walking into a trap by trusting Lupin?

Harry frowned. He wondered what it would be like to have people constantly distrust one, to be unjustly suspected or even accused. He thought of the suspicion and stares he had received, of the whispers and rumors and the people either underestimating him or expecting him to be a superhero. For a moment, he felt in a flash that he knew exactly what Lupin experienced and Harry determined to trust Lupin even if he put himself in danger by doing so.

"Harry, wake up!" Ron barked, startling Harry who realized he had been staring off into middle distance.

"What?" he asked. "Sorry."

"I just said, should we tell anyone about the Shrieking Shack?" said Hermione patiently.

"Hmm," pondered Harry. "I think we should go back, see if we can find out more."

"Go back where?" asked Ginny, coming suddenly into the room.

"Gin!" said Ron in surprise. "Listening at doors again?"

"Of course," said Ginny smugly.

"Didn't Mum and Dad teach you any manners?" asked Ron grumpily.

"Oh, they don't have to know," said Ginny airily. "Go back where?"

"To the Shrieking Shack," said Harry, deciding that since Ginny had the map it wouldn't hurt to bring her in. He looked steadily at Ron, hoping he could tell him without words not to tell Ginny about the werewolves or Lupin, at least not more than she already knew. The fewer people who knew about all that, the better.

Ron must have gotten the message, because he shrugged and said, "right, then, shall we finish our essays?"

"Harry's got ink on his nose," said Ginny.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd like to clarify the special lenses Harry uses and why they don't work 100%. To create Harry's experience and describe it realistically, I'm drawing heavily on both my own experience and a friend of mine, as well as quite a bit of reading and details from others I have met along the way. For a person as photophobic as Harry, even the darkest sunglasses or even ones tinted a special color to block a certain spectrum can only do so much. Basically Harry has gone from not really even being able to open his eyes out of doors to having things set against a sunny sky still wash out. So the lenses do indeed benefit him, but like any vision aid, they do not miraculously make a visual problem go away entirely. From the standpoint of drama in the story, they really can't be allowed to do too much! But that detail was written more to be realistic and show a vision impairment from the inside as much as to move the story along.


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To answer a reader question: Other writers of blind!harry fanfics have used a version of the Quick Quotes Quill for Harry. I've thought about giving him one…but he needed to suffer for a while first. Muhahahaha… evil author that I am!
> 
> [WARNING] This chapter contains some violence.

The day before Halloween, Harry, Ron, and Hermione tried to test their theory about Professor Lupin, but since it was a Saturday, they supposed Lupin could successfully hide in his quarters without discovery. After dinner that night, they stood together, whispering, in a third-floor corridor, leaning on the sill of a diamond-paned window, gazing out at the moon. Harry marveled how beautiful it looked, even though its edges were fuzzy.

"I wish there was a way to find out if we're right," said Hermoine.

"We could try to find his quarters," suggested Ron, but Hermione gave such a snort of derision that Harry cringed, picturing the look of disgust on her face.

"Or not," Ron amended.

"I'm going to the Shrieking Shack," said Harry decisively.

"Are you mad?" asked Hermione.

"We have to find out what they are doing. If they're going to try to get to Lupin," explained Harry.

"Harry, you're barking," said Ron. "Trying to find werewolves during a full moon is insane."

"I'm not trying to find them. I'm trying to listen to them," Harry insisted.

"I doubt they're talking tonight," said Hermione.

Harry paid no attention. Deliberately, he turned and started down the corridor. They were on the same floor as the One-Eyed Witch, but could he find the place without Ginny and her map? After a few seconds of furious hesitation, Hermione and Ron followed him.

"If you're going to go down the tunnel, we're going with you," said Ron.

"You don't have to come," said Harry coldly.

"We may really regret this," said Hermione hesitantly, "but we're coming. That's it. How do we get there?"

"That's the thing," said Harry ruefully. "I'm not sure. We have to find the statue of the One-Eyed Witch and I'm not sure where she is without Ginny and the Marauder's Map."

"We could go find Ginny," suggested Ron.

Harry considered this. He would have preferred to go alone, under his Invisibility Cloak. Three people would be hard enough to keep quiet, but adding a fourth sounded like a mess. He also hated to put his friends in danger. Still, he wasn't sure what other choice he had. Only Ginny knew where the Witch was. It was that or give up. Or spend the whole night scouring the corridors, but based on his previous attempts to find things, he didn't think that option sounded like much fun. He'd learned early that he had to know exactly where an item was or it took an impossible amount of time hunting for it. In the dorm, Neville had once moved Harry's shoes and it had taken Harry the better part of two hours to find them again.

"Okay," he finally assented and followed Ron toward Gryffindor Tower.

Ginny proved to be easier to locate than Harry had anticipated. Following a quick trip to the girls' dormitory, Hermione came triumphantly into the Gryffindor Common Room with a curious Ginny in tow.

"Do you have the Marauder's Map?" asked Harry in a low voice and briefly explained his plan.

She hurried off to get it and Harry collected his Invisibility Cloak. He cast about for anything else that might come in useful should they encounter trouble. Nothing sat on his bedside table but his new clock and a silver teaspoon he'd set there weeks ago and had forgotten. Shrugging, he thrust it into his pocket.

Ginny had no trouble finding the corridor with the One-eyed Witch. Ron and Hermione loved the Marauder's Map, Hermione in particular exclaiming over the moving labeled dots sprinkled here and there throughout the castle. Ginny tapped the Witch with her wand.

"Dissendium," she said sternly.

Obediently, the statue opened. Descending into the darkness, Hermione lit her wand with a quickly muttered "Lumos," but Harry worried that the light would shine through the cracks in the trap door of the Shrieking Shack. The last thing they needed was to attract the attention of a pack of werewolves.

Harry led the way, feeling the wall of the tunnel with one hand and the floor with his cane. He found the darkness less bothersome than before; in a way it was almost a relief to have the constant pain of light gone. When he got to the divide, he chose the right-hand passage as before, but they had not gone far down the new tunnel when they heard a noise ahead of them. All four froze and Hermione clutched Harry's arm with a ferocity that made him wince.

Harry dared not breathe, but stood still in the tunnel, listening. None of his friends moved or breathed. Ahead of them all was still. Perhaps they had imagined the noise?

Harry let out a breath, but just as he did so they all saw it: a light coming toward them, stretching along the tunnel wall. They all heard the accompanying rumble of a low growl.

Hermione pulled Harry's ear close to her mouth.

"It's a werewolf," she said in the lowest possible whisper. Harry nodded. The light drew nearer.

Harry felt frozen to the spot, but Hermione whirled and tugged at his arm. Pushing Ron and Ginny ahead of her, she ran back down the tunnel the way they had come. Reaching the joining of ways, she ducked into the next passage to the right, the one that led to Honeydukes.

Harry felt his brain re-awaken as they crouched in the dark tunnel. Werewolves possessed a keen sense of smell. Had he not just written that in his essay for Snape? The one in the tunnel would find them; there was no use crouching in the dark. He realized with dismay that his Invisibility Cloak would also be of no use.

There had to be something they could do. They needed to neutralize the werewolf long enough to get away back up to the castle. They had nothing with which to fight the thing and if they got too close they ran the risk of getting bitten, a fate nobody liked to contemplate.

In desperation, Harry felt in his pockets. The hard shape of the teaspoon met his grasp.

"Ron!" Harry whispered urgently. "Transfigure this into sugar." Harry handed Ron the teaspoon in the dark, fumbling to find his friend's hand.

"Are you mad?" asked Ron. "I never could do that one."

"Just do it," ordered Harry furiously.

Ron ground his teeth as he tapped the teaspoon with his wand.

"Hurry," whispered Harry.

Ron found Harry's hand and tipped the dismal pile into it. "It's no good, though, Harry," he said apologetically. "I can never get the color right." This was exactly what Harry remembered and he fervently hoped Ron had continued not getting it right this time.

"Sshhh," said Harry. "Just stay here."

Heart pounding, Harry felt his way back down the passage. A draught of air told him he had reached the junction and he waited as the light grew closer. He turned his head slightly from side to side, listening intently to the soft footfalls as they drew nearer, watching the flickering light running along the walls of the tunnel. He closed his eyes against the pain of the glaring lantern when it at last came into view and listened for one more agonizing moment and then he leapt forward.

Throwing the handful of silver sugar into the face of the startled werewolf, Harry took off running up the tunnel toward the castle, crossing his fingers, hoping the brute would follow him rather than going after his friends. The brute roared and the lantern-light dipped and shook, shivering along the walls beside Harry.

He'd gotten only a few seconds head-start and he ran awkwardly, holding his cane out in front of him, his hand running along the wall. Behind him he could hear the monster howling and yelping in pain trying even as it ran to brush the sugar out of its eyes, but in the process rubbing the powdered silver even deeper until finally it could not see at all.

Harry drew a breath as his cane caught on the bottom step and the handle rammed toward his stomach. Grunting with pain, he reached for the step, but missed, his momentum flinging him forward onto his knees on the stairs. He scrambled to his feet as the sound of the werewolf behind him drew closer, the sounds of its howling and mewling now blending with the noises of its bulk crashing into the walls. Still it came and Harry mounted the steps with growing panic.

He tumbled out of the Witch mere steps ahead of the brute who, as far as Harry could tell, was still furiously rubbing its injured eyes. Immediately Harry took off down the corridor, the creature in hot pursuit, guided by its sense of smell and its terrifying rage against the enemy who had caused its eyes such searing pain. Rather than risk another hit to the stomach with the handle of his cane. Harry held it almost vertically, watching the corridor as best he could in the torchlight for turns and stairs.

Left, then right, the scramble up an unknown set of stairs. Harry's breath now came in ragged gasps and his arm clutched a stitch in his side as he ran. The werewolf behind him could not catch him, but Harry knew he could not run forever and he had no plan, no idea where he was or where he was going.

Harry nearly gave himself up for lost. The blind werewolf still pounded hot on his heels, so close he could feel its breath. Harry stumbled and fell to his knees, sure that this was the end.

As he fell, a huge, dark shape came flying out of the dimness ahead of him, leaping over Harry, the wind of its passing ruffling his hair. He heard a rumbling, snarling growl and its open mouth caught the werewolf unexpectedly in the throat with a crash that sent the two sideways into a wall. Panting, Harry pulled himself away from the werewolf and its attacker, tumbling and growling and snapping ferociously at one another. The hallway filled with the ear-splitting confusion of the fight.

Harry could hardly believe he was safe. Only feet from where he lay exhausted in the floor he could see the black shape of an enormous dog, bigger than any dog Harry had ever seen. It had the advantage of surprise as well as eyesight and it soon emerged on top of the wrestling, snarling pair. In just a few seconds the werewolf lay limp and still on the stone floor, while the black dog stood over it, teeth bared, its enormous jaws dripping with dark blood as it turned around to gaze at Harry.

Harry blinked.

The dog turned away from him again and nosed its prey as if to make sure the werewolf was really dead. Then it turned again toward Harry, staring at him with eyes that glowed eerily in the torchlight. It licked its huge chops, dark blood dripping again from its tongue.

What happened next made Harry gasp with surprise. The dog took a step toward Harry and stood smoothly up until it stood before him, not a dog but a man, to Harry a blurred shadow of a man, standing over him with dark hair that fell about his pale face. The man knelt next to Harry, setting a gentle hand on Harry's shoulder.

"Are you all right?" the man asked.

Shaking with fatigue, Harry pulled himself to a sitting position, the man's gentle touch helping to pull him up. Other than a sore spot in his gut, he was fine. He could hardly believe he was even alive.

"Err, yeah," he said. "Yeah, I'm okay."

His face close to Harry's, the man looked deeply into his eyes.

"You… You're my godfather, aren't you?" asked Harry.

"Yes," said the man softly.

"But who are you…?" asked Harry eagerly, but they both heard noises approaching in the corridor. Then man glanced fearfully over his shoulder.

"We'll talk later," he said hurriedly.

"But when? Where?" protested Harry, but it was too late. All Harry could see was the shadow of a huge, black dog disappearing down the long corridor.

"Harry!" Hermione's voice rang out.

"Harry! Oh my… you're all right!" Harry was nearly bowled over by the force of Ginny's hug. Ron and Hermione piled on top of the two until Harry could hardly breathe.

"But how in the world did you…" asked Ron in amazement, looking at the dead werewolf, lying only a few feet away.

"My godfather helped me," said Harry slowly, disentangling himself from his friends and standing shakily to his feet.

"Your wh-wh-what?" asked Ron in disbelief, still gazing at the creature.

"C'mon," said Harry, putting an arm around his friend's shoulders and starting away down the hallway with him. "I'll tell you everything, I promise."


	18. Chapter 18

Harry sat with his friends at the Halloween feast, hardly noticing what he ate, so intense were the thoughts that distracted him. All year he knew he'd had a more difficult time paying attention to things going on around him, and he attributed it to the fact that he couldn't see them. Maybe out of sight really was out of mind, because Harry lived a much more internal existence, with more and more importance being given to his musings, his imagination and his world of swirling inner consciousness. Tonight he really did try to keep up a conversation with Ron and Hermione but when his answers continued to be in monosyllables they told him his head was in the clouds and went on to talk amongst the other third-years instead.

Harry's head wasn't in the clouds; it was in the third-floor corridor with the stranger who'd saved his life yesterday. Who was he? Harry needed to find him, alone, and talk with him again. He needed to find a time when no one would come looking for him to interrupt their talk, as had happened the last two times.

The chance came sooner than Harry dared hope. Professor McGonagall called a special meeting one evening of all the students who planned to venture into Hogsmeade the next weekend. Since Harry still did not have a permission slip, he was free to not attend the meeting and he knew his friends would be occupied, so they would not come looking for him. As soon as he had the chance, he donned his Invisibility Cloak and slipped away from Gryffindor Tower to make his way quietly through the echoing castle halls. This time he had a better idea of where to go, since he had more carefully paid attention when Ron led him back last night from the scene of the battle.

Harry wondered vaguely as he went why he had heard no hue and cry today about the body of a dead werewolf being found in an upstairs corridor. Someone, maybe his godfather, must have spirited away the corpse before anyone else discovered it. Harry doubted that such a find would go unremarked by the staff, so it must not have been found, however that feat had been accomplished.

Harry climbed a set of stairs leading past the One-eyed Witch toward the fourth floor. He was close now and his ears were on high alert. He paused for a moment to marvel at the ease with which he ascended the stairs. Only a few short weeks ago he would have tripped and fallen on his face; now the tip of his cane found the first step and the rest followed almost automatically, even impeded as he was by the swath of the Cloak. He grinned to himself and moved on toward the long hallway.

"Hello?" he called in a loud whisper and listened to the silence which lay heavily around him.

He was right that the body of the werewolf had been moved. He looked for a dark smear of blood on the floor, but either due to his poor eyesight or the fact that someone had scrubbed the floor, it was not there.

"Hello?" he called again, just a bit louder and was startled by the flapping wings of a bat passing him on its way to find the open night sky and hunt for bugs.

The corridor stretched on in empty silence after that and Harry sat down against the wall to wait, folding his cane with a click, wrapping the elastic handle around it and setting it beside him on the chilly floor.

"Harry?" a voice asked and Harry jumped. It was not the gentle voice of his "godfather" and he wondered for a fleeting moment if he would soon face detention. He sat still under the Invisibility Cloak, waiting as the speaker approached, silhouetted against the torchlight. The voice turned out not to be Filch, the caretaker, or even Professor Snape, but Professor Lupin.

"Hello, Professor," said Harry, jumping to his feet and pushing back the hood on his Invisibility Cloak. "How did you know I was here?"

"I heard you call and well, err, I have other ways," said Lupin grimly, drawing closer to Harry.

Harry shivered, remembering the pursuit of the rabid werewolf the other night. Lupin could smell Harry, he realized with a shock and without realizing it, he grimaced slightly.

"Were you looking for someone?" asked Lupin and Harry realized he didn't seem angry at Harry for being so far away from his dormitory when he wasn't supposed to be.

"Err, well," began Harry, unsure of what to say.

"Looking for him, perhaps," said Lupin with a smile in his voice as he was joined in the corridor by another dim figure Harry had not heard approaching.

"Hello, Harry," the warm, gentle voice greeted.

Harry stared open-mouthed at the two, the last two people he expected to see together here.

"We were just having tea, you see," said Professor Lupin with an odd tone in his voice. "Would you like to join us, Harry?"

Harry hesitated. He did not want to waste the chance to talk to his "godfather" yet he felt suddenly wary of Lupin and completely confused at their seeming to know one another at all. "Err, I suppose so," he assented awkwardly.

"Follow me, then, Harry," said Lupin cheerfully. "Come along, Sirius."

Sirius? Harry stood frozen. Was this man, this kind man really the murderer Sirius Black? To be sure Harry had seen him rip apart an attacking werewolf just a few days ago. But the memory of Black's gentle hand on Harry's shoulder came just as forcefully, reminding Harry how much he wanted to trust this man, to have a real godfather, a real family.

"Hmm, I thought you two knew each other," said Lupin, turning to see why Harry no longer followed behind him. He read the shock and confusion on Harry's face and said softly, "Come along and I'll explain everything. Don't worry."

Harry followed, curiosity getting the better of his caution.

Lupin led him to a small room nearby that contained a blazing fire and what turned out to be armchairs when Harry located the nearest one and placed his hands on it. He skirted it and sat, pushing the Invisibility Cloak the rest of the way off and wadding it up, stuffing into his pocket.

"I see you have James's cloak," remarked Lupin.

"You knew my Dad?" asked Harry in surprise. "You know about the Invisibility Cloak?"

"Of course, Harry," said Professor Lupin.

"But…" Harry couldn't think what to say. Everything had been turned on its head. "And Sirius…" he began again. "Hagrid told me you, err…"

"He probably told you I betrayed your parents," said Sirius. "It's why I was sent to Azkaban, among other things."

Harry gaped. Here he was brazenly admitting it. Harry felt a wave of revulsion wash over him. Ever since the conversation with Hagrid, Harry had wanted to find the escaped prisoner and to kill him, to avenge his parents. That the man could be the same man who'd just saved Harry's life from an attacking werewolf made Harry's head spin.

Sirius continued. "I'll tell you the truth, Harry. I did not betray your parents; someone else did. I was in the wrong place at the wrong time and I got blamed. I would never harm James and Lily; I would never harm you," he ended with a rush of emotion, placing his hand on Harry's shoulder. Harry pulled away with a frown, thinking hard.

"Someone else betrayed them to Voldemort?" Harry asked and Lupin sucked in a whistling breath through his teeth and the mention of the name.

"Yes, Harry." Black's voice sounded strained, dripping with the pain of Harry's rejection.

"Then who?" asked Harry.

"A vile little rat named Peter Pettigrew."

The name wasn't familiar to Harry and he was distracted by another thought. "You have been here, in the castle the whole time. How? Why?"

"Remus," said Black simply.

"Professor Lupin has been helping you?" asked Harry in bewilderment.

"Harry," broke in Lupin, "let me explain. We were friends in school, Sirius and I, and James and Peter too. Sirius contacted me and asked for help before the school year even began. I promised to help him, both to shelter him here and to help him reach you."

"And to find Peter," added Sirius with a low growl.

"There is a room, a very special room, that was set up for me," continued Lupin. "It's secure, protected from discovery and from penetration by strong enchantments. I am to use it during the full moon in case something should go wrong with the, err, potion."

"The potion?" asked Harry.

"Professor Snape has kindly agreed to brew a special Wolfsbane Potion that minimizes the effects of my, err, condition."

Harry was putting the pieces together. "So you have been here, in the special room," he said to Sirius.

"Yes," said Black. "I came in on the Hogwarts Express."

"The dementors!" exclaimed Harry. "They didn't find you?"

"They are attracted only to human happiness, Harry. I traveled as a dog in the baggage car. Bloody uncomfortable small box, too, Remus," Sirius added wryly.

"Bloody big hound," retorted Lupin.

"Good thing, too," added Harry, thinking of the recent fight and all three laughed.

"So you both went to school with my parents?" asked Harry wistfully.

"Yes, Harry," said Sirius sadly.

"But what are you going to do, I mean you'll get caught staying here," said Harry.

"I am going to find that little rat, Peter," said Sirius doggedly.

"He could be anywhere. Why look here?" asked Harry.

"I saw this," said Sirius, pulling a crackling piece of paper from his pocket.

Harry shook his head mutely at the light-colored blur in Sirius's hand.

"It's a newspaper clipping," explained Lupin. "The picture shows the Weasley family in Egypt this summer. Ron Weasley has a rat on his shoulder, a rat with one toe missing."

"Scabbers?" gasped Harry. "Ron's had that stupid rat for ages."

"I have reason to believe that rat is Peter Pettigrew," said Sirius with a tired sigh. "But I have not been able to get near enough to him to find out. I was going down for another look the other night when I ran into you and your... ahem… friend."

"Good thing you were," said Harry fervently and Lupin chuckled nervously.

"What was going on, Harry?" asked Sirius.

Harry told them about the Shrieking Shack and the plans he'd overheard. Lupin sprang to his feet.

"Greyback?" he nearly shouted. "Are you sure?"

"No," said Harry honestly.

"That was not Greyback the other night," put in Sirius.

"It was a scout," said Lupin, more calmly now.

"It came for you, Remus," said Black.

"Yes, to bring me in, to get me to join them," said Lupin bitterly.

Harry sat frozen as he listened.

"Yes, your old friend, Greyback," said Sirius sarcastically.

"Greyback was the one who bit me," said Lupin to Harry, his voice stretched paper-thin. "I hate him more than anyone else on earth."

"What are they planning, I wonder," said Sirius thoughtfully. "It's got to be more than a mere attack on Hogwarts. For one thing, Greyback is not that stupid."

"Greyback's main goal in life is to infect enough young wizards to raise up an army of werewolves for the dark side," explained Lupin.

"Yes, we know that," said Black impatiently. "But there has to be something more going on. He would not do something this brazen unless he had more powerful backing."

"You don't suppose he has something to do with Peter?" asked Lupin. "He might have seen the newspaper article as well."

"Wait!" shouted Harry. "What date did the article come out?"

Black scanned the article. "July 23rd," he said.

"I was attacked on the 27th," said Harry. "And whoever did it used a killing curse."

Sirius growled again, deep in his throat.

"Greyback rarely uses curses. It's not his style. But he runs with that pack of… former… Death Eaters, may their toes rot off. Any one of them could have set up that attack."

"But why me?" asked Harry.

"I don't know," said Lupin quietly, and silence descended on the little room.

"It's late," said Lupin suddenly. "You should get back to your dorm before Minerva comes and scratches my eyes out for keeping you."

Harry chuckled. "I'm glad you're here," he said sincerely, turning to Black. To his surprise, Black pulled him close in an uncertain hug and after only a minute's hesitation, Harry returned it. He felt the dewdrop of a tear on his forehead, falling from where his godfather silently wept.

"Harry," said Lupin seriously. "You must never come to this room, please. What you tell the others, your friends, is up to you but I must ask you please, please never to bring them here."

"I promise," returned Harry solemnly, thinking about nights under the shining full moon, nights of torment for Lupin, attended by the silent support of the big, black dog.


	19. Chapter 19

On the following Saturday, a chilly, blustery, nippy November day, Harry felt almost glad that he wasn't joining the group of chattering Gryffindors on their way into Hogsmeade. Ron and Hermione carried a few of Harry's Sickles and Knuts with orders for purchases at Honeydukes and extra bottles of butterbeer. After they left he settled himself into a chair in front of the fire in the Gryffindor common room with a contented sigh and opened on his lap a gigantic book bound in smooth vinyl.

Harry thought wryly of the day Professor Lupin had given him the huge book.

"How is the reading going, Harry?" Lupin had asked one day, pulling him aside after class.

"Fine," Harry had initially responded. "Hermione reads all the assignments."

"Bit tough on her, isn't it?" Lupin had persisted.

Taken aback, Harry had paused, uncertainly. "I do pay her, as Professor McGonagall suggested I ought…"

"And the writing? Note-taking?" Lupin had asked.

Harry frowned. To tell the truth, he had not been taking notes at all. He relied on Hermione's notes and his own memory to recall information, a system that had proved to be as full of holes as a spider's web and his poor marks reflected it.

That's when Professor Lupin had pulled out the Braille book with a sort of triumph as if he had simply been waiting for Harry to struggle to the point he'd realize he needed it. He'd placed the hardcover volume in Harry's hands, surprisingly light for feeling as large as a dictionary. Harry had set it on the desk and opened the front cover, feeling the tangle of tiny dots sprinkled randomly across the page and wondered how in the world he would ever decipher them.

As he opened it now, before the fire in the common room, the book covered his lap and spilled over on each side onto the chair. He looked down at it, feeling the familiar frustration of seeing only a sea of blurry white, with no writing, no pictures. Every book, newspaper or piece of parchment this year had been similarly opaque to him and he missed the ease of taking in the printed word. Though he'd never been much of a student, he still enjoyed a book from time to time.

His assignment today: the alphabet. He felt for a moment like he was back at the little brick school two blocks past Privet Drive, ducking away from Dudley and his friends on the walks there and back, sitting in the desk with his name-tag and a grotesque cartoon of a frog pasted to it. The smell of paste and the sight of a freshly sharpened pencil came back to him as he remembered his small self, struggling to print his alphabet.

Harry shook his head. If he didn't quit this absentminded reminiscing, he'd never learn anything. He touched the white page in his lap. For a moment the bumps felt just as random and he frowned, sweeping his fingers over the page, lightly, as Professor Lupin had taught him. Finally he found the blank spaces between the lines and he followed them with his finger, orienting himself to the page.

With effort, he found the blank lines in the middle of the page, then the chart of the letters of the alphabet he was supposed to be memorizing. He shifted in his chair, biting his tongue in concentration. "A." There. He'd found the single dot at the far left side of the line that Lupin told him represented the letter A. He was on his way. He felt over and over the groups of dots, trying to memorize their configuration, as if he was learning a page of minuscule constellations.

Curiously he read each letter, counting along the alphabet in his head, hoping he matched the right shape with its counterpart, printed in his mind. Minutes or hours passed and his fingertips began to feel numb. Every shape felt the same and the dots seemed to crawl across the page. Harry flipped the book closed, promising himself he would return to it again.

With the book in his lap, Harry sat watching the fire. Just as he had done the other night, Crookshanks, the great, orange tabby belonging to Hermione, sprang into his lap, intent on making himself at home on top of the Braille book. Harry pushed him off.

"Get off of there," he said to the cat. "You'll squish the dots."

Insulted, the cat walked away, toward the girls' dorms. Harry watched the movement of his colorless tail until he faded from sight then looked back at the fire but the cat had gotten him thinking. The cat reminded Harry of Ron's rat, since the feline had nearly eaten Scabbers during the trip on the Hogwarts Express and had seemed eager to finish the job ever since.

Harry thought about his conversation with Black and Lupin. Black had been convinced that Scabbers was Peter Pettigrew, the real traitor to Harry's parents. Harry wasn't so sure. How could Ron's hand-me-down rat be a lethal muggle-murderer? It simply seemed too far-fetched. Harry wondered if he could find Scabbers. He shook his head at that thought. Even if he could manage to locate the rat, a feat that would likely take him all day in the blurred grey-and-black shadows of the dormitory, once he got him he wouldn't be able to examine him. No, he needed another way.

Ginny! The thought struck him like a chime. Ginny had the Marauder's Map, which showed names. Did it show the names of Animagi? It wouldn't hurt to look. He wondered where Ginny was on a cold Saturday. Was she up in the girls' dorm? The Library?

Harry sat still, thinking. He couldn't go up to the girls' dorm so he'd have to wait for someone to come along who could. He reopened the Braille book and more quickly found the chart of alphabet letters. He smiled with satisfaction at this accomplishment and set himself the task of learning the top row, letters A through J. Most of them used the same three dots, rotated different ways and he wondered how he would ever keep them straight when the portrait-hole opened.

A group of giggling first-year girls piled in, en route from the Library to their dorm. Harry turned toward them.

"Err," he said awkwardly. "Mind seeing if Ginny Weasley is up there?"

In spite of their nudging and tittering, the girls responded in the affirmative and started up the stairs. Harry rolled his eyes and turned back to his book. He was pleased to discover that the letter F looked to his fingertip like part of the printed letter F looked in his memory and he thought he'd be able to remember that one.

"Harry?" Ginny asked as she descended the stairs.

"Ginny!" Harry exclaimed, turning again in his chair, then continued in a lower voice, "Do you have the map?"

"Of course," she said with a conspiratorial grin in her voice and she plopped into the chair next to Harry, laying the map out on the low table in front of them. Excitedly, Harry flopped his book closed again and set it aside, grinning at Ginny's comment about its size.

"What did you want to look for?" asked Ginny.

"I want to check something," said Harry cautiously. Ginny tapped the map, speaking the passphrase in a low voice.

Harry pulled out his magnifying bubble and set it on the map, kneeling beside the table to press his nose to the paper, but the lines and moving dots remained frustratingly blurred.

"I still can't see it," he said regretfully, pounding his palm on the table. Dumbledore may call it inconvenient but Harry called it a damn nuisance, especially now when he wanted to keep the information he found to himself. He resolved to work even harder on the Braille, just so he would be able to read something, to write a note and be sure that no one else could read it.

But that wouldn't help him with the map and he regained his chair, frowning.

"You're looking for something in particular, but you don't want to tell me what it is," guessed Ginny astutely.

Harry shot her an incredulous look.

"I grew up with older brothers," she said simply. "What is it you want to find?"

"All right," said Harry. "Look at Gryffindor Tower."

"Mind if I borrow this?" asked Ginny, reaching for the magnifier.

"And how," said Harry. "It's not doing me any good."

"Okay," said Ginny. "Here's the common room. Just us. Here's the boy's dorm. Colin Creavy and his mates in their room doing who-knows-what. There's that little rat…"

"Rat?" said Harry, sitting up straighter.

"Yes," said Ginny with distaste. "Alfred Manchester. Thinks he's in love with me, the twit."

"Oh," said Harry, slouching again. He only half listened as Ginny named the occupants of the girls' dorm.

"That's it," said Ginny.

"You're sure?" asked Harry.

"Yeah, why?" said Ginny.

"Oh, just thought… never mind. Thanks for checking."

"Is someone hiding?" asked Ginny curiously.

"I'm not sure," said Harry truthfully.

"Well, I can't make you tell me," said Ginny with annoyance in her voice.

Harry hardly heard her. His mind was chewing on the fact that Gryffindor Tower did not contain Peter Pettigrew's name. Maybe Black was wrong. Or maybe the map did not show animagi.

He was saved from answering Ginny by the return of Ron, Hermione, Fred, and George from Hogsmeade. They trooped into the room, bringing the fresh smell of the outdoors and the noise of their good spirits in with them. Ron dropped several paper sacks onto Harry's lap that contained sweets and George showered similar offerings on Ginny.

Hermione spotted the Braille book. "Harry, what is that huge book?" she asked with awe. Harry grinned. To Hermione if a book was good, a giant book was better. He picked it up from the floor and handed it to her.

"It's Braille," he told her. "Professor Lupin is making me learn it."

"Are all Braille books this big?" asked Ron, peering over her shoulder.

"I guess so," replied Harry. "I'm not really sure. I'll ask him next time I see him."

Ron and Hermione took a few minutes to examine the rows of Braille bumps then gave the book back to Harry and took off to their respective dorms to shed coats and get their study materials and sweets. Ron came back down the stairs at a dead run.

"Hermione!" he yelled at the stairs to the girls' dorm. "Hermione, get down here!"

"What?" she asked breathlessly, hurrying down the stairs.

"Your stupid cat!" Ron spluttered. "Scabbers is gone!"

"Gone?" asked Hermione in confusion. "Are you sure?"

"I looked all over," said Ron, although privately Harry doubted this since Ron had been gone a mere matter of minutes. "He was asleep on my bed and now he's nowhere to be found."


	20. Chapter 20

All week Ron and Hermione refused to speak to one another, Ron because he was sure Crookshanks had eaten Scabbers and Hermione because she was sure he hadn't. The result of this tiff was that Ron stopped joining them for study sessions in the Transfiguration classroom. Harry missed his friend since all the time he had to spend studying with Hermione meant that Ron somehow assumed Harry was allied with her.

Harry was glad for the evenings away from the tense atmosphere in the common room, time spent practicing quidditch in preparation for the game on Saturday: Gryffindor versus Slytherin. They had been scheduled to play Ravenclaw earlier in the year, but Madame Hooch had sensibly rearranged the schedule to give Oliver Wood more time with his new team.

At the first practice after tryouts, Wood pulled Harry aside.

"I'm glad you made Seeker," he said sincerely. "I hoped you would. But I felt I had to make you earn it, you know?"

Harry considered this. He had been pretty sore at Wood for making him try out for his own position, but he had thought that Wood did it because he didn't want to deal with a blind Seeker on his team. That Wood had done it so Harry could prove himself hadn't occurred to him. All he said was, "thanks."

Wood slapped him on the back and loped off toward the rest of the team, waiting in the center of the pitch. Harry followed him more slowly, wondering how the team would react. Wood's statement had buoyed him somewhat but he still had to ignore butterflies in his gut.

Wood immediately set the tone. "Welcome Victoria," he said first. "We're sorry to lose Katie but you've shown yourself to be an excellent flyer and we have no doubts you will make an outstanding chaser. Since you're the newest member, you will be the backup chaser."

Harry assumed Vicki nodded. She seemed like a quiet girl, which made her practically invisible to Harry since most of the cues he got from people nowadays were auditory. He made a mental note to try to talk to her sometime just to find out a little more about her.

"And now for Potter," continued Wood. Harry snapped his attention back to what Wood was saying. "For our team to work well together, we need good communication. I've never played with a blind Seeker but I did see a blind quidditch league play once and I was very impressed. I have no doubt we can make the best team Gryffindor has ever had."

Harry grinned as he heard comments of assent from his teammates and one of the Weasley twins clapped Harry on the back.

"Potter, first, you need to tell us exactly what you can see and how you plan to play. From there we can work out the team strategy."

Hesitantly at first, but with growing confidence, Harry explained the blurriness, the pain, the lack of color and the glare. He pulled the beeping Snitch from his pocket and showed it to the team.

"Will you need beepers on the goalposts?" queried Wood when Harry told them about the near miss with pole.

"I don't think so," replied Harry, "since I'm not a chaser. But I'm not sure about the Bludgers."

"That's our job, mate," said Fred, pulling a strong-man pose.

"They shouldn't be any different since they sneak up on everyone. I don't think you silly Chasers and Seekers ever watch out for our precious ickle Bludgerkins," added George.

Wood cleared his throat. "So you two keep the Bludgers away from Harry, especially," he ordered.

"Right-o Capitan," said George with a snappy salute.

"What else?" asked Wood.

Harry told them about the collision with Ron. "I can't see you coming until you're really close," he explained.

Astounded, Wood asked, "how did you catch the Snitch in tryouts without taking me out? I thought you were headed directly toward me."

"I was actually really afraid I would crash into you," admitted Harry.

"Would it help if we shouted out where we are if you get close?" asked Angelina.

"Lupin told me that's a rule in blind footie leagues. They yell 'Voy' to let one another know where they are," said Harry.

"Voy?" asked Angelina.

"Spanish," explained Wood. "The blind quidditch players I saw did that too. We can do that for Harry, but it's a fair guess the Slytherins won't."

Everyone fell silent for a moment as the truth of Wood's words sank in. The Slytherin team, always delighted to play dirty, would target a blind Seeker relentlessly as the weakest player on the team.

"We could yell, ‘Hay un jugador idiota de Slytherin en su cola,’" suggested Victoria and Harry decided she was going to fit in just fine.

"Translate, please," said George.

"There's a moronic Slytherin player on your tail," she supplied with a grin as laughter rippled through the team.

"And by the time you say all that," Harry laughed, "they will have taken me totally out."

Fred and George bowed. "Service is our specialty!" said one.

"We won't have time to watch out for Harry. We need to play our own positions," said Wood thoughtfully.

"We could make all the Slytherins wear a beeper," suggested Alicia, grinning.

"Not sure," said Wood with finality. "We'll keep thinking on it. Harry, you ask Lupin sometime if there is a history of blind players on a sighted team and how they handle this. For now, time to get into the air."

They all kicked off into the scrimmage. Harry released his beeping Snitch to fly where it might and he began circling the pitch. At first, he stayed above the game so he didn't run into his teammates, but he realized both he and they needed to get used to him being in the thick of things. Everyone discovered that some of the players were better at remembering to call "Voy" than others. Once Harry had to duck flat on his broom as Fred nearly plowed into him. The most difficult thing for Harry was watching and listening for other players but still keeping his focus on the Snitch. Once he heard the beep across the pitch near one of the hoops and he took off in a beeline for it, not realizing Wood flew directly in his path.

"Voy!" Wood called frantically in his face as Harry hurtled toward him and Harry swerved at the last minute, his heart rising into his throat, adrenaline pumping. Even so, Harry grabbed the Snitch and Wood declared the scrimmage a success.

Since then they had fine-tuned their team play. Wood commented once that they played as a tighter team than ever, as if the necessity of being aware of Harry made everyone a more alert player. Still, they all admitted to feeling nervous about facing Slytherin the first time. Harry especially began to have trouble sleeping and dreamed of gigantic green-and-silver players coming out of nowhere to smash him in the face.

The Saturday of the game dawned overcast and drizzly. Looking out the window of his dorm, Harry couldn't see what the weather was doing, so out of habit, he asked Ron, who answered with a snappish monosyllable.

"Hey, mate," said Harry with a frown, turning from the window toward his friend. Because he'd been looking at the outdoor light, Harry couldn't make out Ron's shape at all, so he looked toward Ron's bed instead. "Don't do this," he said.

"Do what?" grumbled Ron.

Touching his own bedpost as he passed it to orient himself, Harry made for Ron's bed and sat on the foot, facing Ron, who sat propped at the head, where he had been shuffling his chocolate frog cards.

"You're mad at Hermione and you're taking it out on me," said Harry. 

He reflected how last year he would have brushed Ron off entirely, letting the rift form between them. This year, however, he needed his friends more than before, much as he hated to admit it, even to himself. It was worth it in the long run to mend fences.

He finally got Ron to speak more than a few words to him. Somehow he had a feeling Ron was oddly pleased to have Harry scolding him. At last Ron hauled himself off the bed with a grunt and a stretch, and padded barefoot to the window to describe the weather to Harry who was delighted that the sun wouldn't be in his face for the match.

Harry forced himself to eat breakfast, sitting with the team at the Gryffindor table. As soon as he'd entered the main hall, Draco piped up. "Good morning, Miss Potter! We're so pleased that Gryffindor now runs a charity team. It will make you so easy to beat by the mighty Slytherins."

Harry gritted his teeth. George leaned over to Harry. "After the game, we're going give your fan a little extra special gift, Harry." 

Harry smiled ruefully. He'd love to see Draco get his comeuppance but he wished he could do it himself with his fists. He had no doubts about his ability to fight Draco; rather he preferred not to get expelled and return to Privet Drive.

The thing Harry missed the most upon entering the quidditch pitch for the game was the sight of the festive house colors. He would have loved to see the crimson-and-gold of the Gryffindor Lions, but the roar of the crowd nearly bowled him over anyway and he joined the team in waving to the stands, even though they looked like nothing more than an undulating sea of colorless movement. Harry's worries about his ability to hear the beep of the Snitch over the noise of the crowd returned with a hard knot of fear that settled into the pit of his stomach. He'd said nothing to anyone about this; partly since there was nothing to be done about it anyway and partly because if word got out to the Slytherins about the problem, they would make even more noise in order to make it harder for Harry to play. His smile faded somewhat as he mounted his broom and waited for the team captains to shake hands.

"And they're off!" called the voice of Lee Jordan as commentator. "Gryffindor's flying in tight formation; looks like the extra practices they've been holding have paid off."

Almost immediately Harry broke off from his team and flew higher above the pitch, looking down on the game. Blurred shapes whizzed below him and he noticed something that had not occurred to him until now. He could not tell which players belonged to his team and which wore the silver and green of Slytherin. Every player looked exactly the same. Harry realized he was not even completely sure which end of the field housed his own goal hoops.

His heart hammered as he flew. Panic rose in his throat. 

_ This was a huge mistake, _ he thought.  _ I'm going to let the Gryffindors down. _

He flew slowly above the game, hardly hearing Lee Jordan's commentary for the pounding in his own ears. He couldn't hear the Snitch at all. Time slowed, as if the players below him and everything else moved in stop-motion. Harry shivered. He could hardly grip his broom.

Vaguely below him he became aware of the crowd, not cheering and shouting as they had been, but screaming in panic. Was it his own ears? Was the screaming in his own head? Harry shivered again, looking down at the grass and the stands. He could see nothing, as though a darkness had swallowed the quidditch pitch and was slowly rising to engulf Harry, too. Everything grew dim and vague and cold. Terror rose in his throat like bile.

Then out of the darkness he heard a tiny beep. Like a beacon, it called to him from below and to his left. With his entire mind, he focused on it, white-hot determination coursing warmly through his veins. The darkness below him rushed to meet him in an absorbing, enveloping wave. Once inside of it, Harry could literally see nothing at all, but he heard the Snitch beeping louder and louder, a tiny aural lighthouse among the storm of nothingness that threatened to overwhelm Harry.

Closer and closer to the Snitch he flew, the furious anger growing inside him as the cold pressed from the outside. Screaming resounded around his mind, bouncing off his skull and green lights flashed in his eyes. Whisper-soft tendrils of darkness brushed against his skin and dead claws seemed to grasp at him. He flew even faster.

Beep, beep, beep.

With the last of his strength, Harry pressed toward the sound and his hand closed unerringly upon it, the tiny wings struggling against his grasp. At the same moment, he flew with a shivering shock into the wooden front of the stands and then he catapulted to the grass to lay in an unconscious heap.

[break]

Consciousness came slowly. Before he even opened his eyes, he saw light through his lids and he kept them closed, but turned his head slightly. Soft. A pillow. Smells. The Hospital Wing.

"He's coming round," said Ron at his elbow.

"Mmmm," mumbled Harry. "Wh-what happened?"

"Well, mate, not many would fly directly into a pack of dementors," said Ron.

"Dementors?" said Harry thickly.

"Yeah," said Hermione from the other side of the bed. "You flew right through them, then crashed into the wall."

"But you caught the Snitch!" said Ron gleefully. "You were brilliant!"

"You boys and your quidditch match," sniffed Hermione disdainfully. "It's all you care about."

"Not true," protested Ron. "We care about lots of other things. Like… well… food. And... err... well, we care about lots of things!"

It occurred to Harry that Ron and Hermione were speaking to one another again. He grinned weakly and lay back on the pillow, fingering the puffy bruise on the side of his face.

"So what happened?" he asked.

Hermione supplied him with the rest of the story. "Well, Dumbledore rushed down to the field faster than I have ever seen him move before. He drove off the dementors with some sort of silver light and they scattered pretty quickly. He was furious, of course. I'm betting the Ministry gets some pretty irate owls tonight."

Harry grinned again but winced as it pulled on his bruise.

"Then he called for medics to come look at you. At the same time, he declared Gryffindor the winner since you had caught the Snitch."

"Short match," commented Harry dryly. "We'd barely begun playing."

"Too right," said Ron. "160-10. The Slytherins are really ticked off."

"I don't know what those dementors were looking for," interrupted Hermione. "There's no way Sirius Black could be here."

"Yeah, about that," said Harry. "We need to talk sometime soon."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have you ever watched the YouTube videos of blind kids skateboarding? Not joking here. Some of them are really fantastic. They were another inspiration for the way I'm writing Harry's flying skills.


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: If you're looking for errors, deviations from canon or plot holes, my story has plenty... So far, though, no one has pointed out one of the worst breaks in continuity that I have found reading back over it. So here's a little challenge for you. The first person to find it wins 50 points for your House. I'll even give you a hint: the error occurs between two different chapters and both are located before Chapter 10. Good luck and please keep the reviews coming!

Since the only thing really wrong with Harry was a nice crop of bumps and bruises, Madame Pomfrey released him that afternoon from the hospital wing. He discovered with annoyance that no one had thought to bring his white stick up to the hospital wing; it probably still sat on the table in the team room down at the quidditch pitch where he'd left it before the ill-fated match.

Ron and Hermione had gone down to the Great Hall for lunch, so he was alone when he left the hospital wing. He was surprised how difficult it was to navigate without the white cane. He was back to feeling shadows with his toe, unsure whether a horizontal line was a stair or simply a join in the flagstones. It took him ages to get from the hospital wing down to the entrance hall where he happened to meet the last person on earth he wanted to see at that moment.

"Miss Potter," said Draco sweetly. "What did you do to your face?"

Harry swung to face Draco, a solitary figure standing in the empty hall. "Where are your pets?" he asked sarcastically.

"Where's your little white stick?" retorted Draco, taking several steps closer to Harry.

"Too bad your mighty Slytherins lost to our poor 'charity team,'" said Harry smugly, but he'd underestimated Draco. Harry didn't see Draco's fist and when it hit Harry in the gut, it knocked the wind out of him. Red fury rose up in front of his eyes and he lunged for Draco, fists flying. One or two of his shots hit home, he noticed with satisfaction when suddenly pincer-like hands grabbed his shoulder, pulling the two boys apart.

"Who started this?" thundered Professor Snape. Harry closed his eyes, wishing himself a thousand miles away.

"Potter did," sniveled Draco.

"No, Draco hit me first," insisted Harry, his rage still boiling very near the surface.

"He insulted the Slytherin House," said Draco slyly.

"Enough!" said Snape. "Detentions for both of you. Ten points from Gryffindor."

Harry jerked away from Snape's hand, stung by the unfairness.

"Monday evening at seven in my classroom, Potter," Snape snarled after him.

Harry flung himself out the front door. The rain had stopped and the sun shone, knifing through Harry's blocking lenses and into his eyes. Everything was so unfair! He wanted to run, to throw something, to hit and punch and flail and kick. Without caring, he stumbled down the front stairs and headed toward the quidditch pitch at a dead run, just wanting to get away, his eyes closed against the searing light.

Before he'd gotten halfway there, he ran up against something large and soft, but immovable as a mountain.

"Whoa, there Harry," said Hagrid, catching Harry's arms to stop him from falling.

"Hagrid!" Harry exclaimed. "I-I-I'm sorry I ran into you."

"No problem," Hagrid said with a chuckle. "I coulda moved. Yeh look upset. Whatsa matter?"

"Oh Hagrid," said Harry in a rush. "I got detention from Snape for fighting Draco and I left my cane down at the quidditch pitch and…"

"Slow down there," said Hagrid. "Yeh've had a busy day, fightin' dementors and Draco Malfoy all in one day. C'mon, let's git yer white stick then we can go ter my place and have a little chat, all right?"

Sniffling, Harry nodded. Once again, Hagrid took Harry's hand in his, a gesture that would have supremely annoyed Harry had anyone else done it. Together they walked to the pitch where Harry found the cane, folded, exactly where he'd left it. Then Hagrid led Harry to his hut, down near the edge of the Forbidden Forest, Harry following disconsolately along behind him.

Once there Hagrid offered Harry an enormous mug of tea and Harry spilled the story of the fight with Draco, the struggles he had with Braille, the sleepless nights worrying about the quidditch match. Hagrid listened without comment. Although Harry didn't tell Hagrid about Sirius or the werewolf attack, he mentally counted them among his list of woes.

"Would yeh like one of these nice raisin cakes?" asked Hagrid, putting a rock-hard lump of bread in Harry's hand.

"Err, thanks, Hagrid," said Harry, grateful for Hagrid's listening ear and his kindness.

"Hang in there, Harry," said Hagrid. "Yeh'll do okay after a bit."

"Yes," acknowledged Harry. "It's just been a long day, I guess. Sorry to go to pieces on you like that."

"Not a big deal," chuckled Hagrid. "Now I need to get on with my traps. There's a rat bin hangin' about my place and I sorter want to get him back into a better spot than my food bin."

"A rat?" asked Harry sharply. "Ron's lost a rat. Do you think it could be his?"

"Could be," responded Hagrid easily. "When I catch 'im, I'll send yeh a note to come take a look."

"Thanks, Hagrid," said Harry, shaking his cane out straight. With his cane back in his hand, he felt as if a lost friend had been recovered or that he'd found a missing hand. Up until today he still had not realized how useful a tool it really was. Grinning, even though it hurt his bruised face, he headed back up toward the castle. He needed to find Ron and Hermione. He owed them an explanation and he wanted to tell Ron about Scabbers.

He found them along with Ginny in the Gryffindor Common room. Although he was tempted to stay there in front of the fire to talk, he couldn't risk being overheard by a passing student, so he suggested they go to the Transfiguration classroom to talk.

Once there, they settled into desks and Harry told them about his finding Sirius and Lupin, about the story of Sirius's relationship with Harry's parents and about the hunt for Peter Pettigrew. Ron was immediately skeptical.

"He thinks Scabbers is this Pettigrew fellow?" he asked irately.

"Think about it, Ron," said Harry. "How old do you think Scabbers really is? I mean rats don't live that long, do they?"

"But Scabbers?" said Ron again in disbelief.

"The only way to find out is to catch him," said Ginny practically. "Harry, is that who you were looking for on the Marauder's Map the other day?"

"Yeah," said Harry. Then he told them about his visit to Hagrid's hut that afternoon and the possibility that Scabbers had been spotted there. "Hagrid said he'd send us a note if he caught him," he finished.

The door opened and Fred and George came into the classroom.

"Hello, Miss Potter," said George in perfect imitation of Draco.

"We thought we saw you lot come up here," Fred added.

"We have a little something for your biggest fan," said George, resuming his own voice.

"What is it?" asked Harry.

"Hold out your hand, mate," said George with a barely suppressed snigger.

Hesitantly Harry held his hand out, a little worried he might be the test dummy for whatever they had planned, but to his relief, George handed him an innocuous potion-bottle. He touched it with his fingers, but found nothing unusual.

Curiosity overcame Hermione and she crowded in close to Harry, asking, "What is it?"

"Well," explained Fred in a pompous tone. "We just happened to slip Draco a little Sinus Powder this morning at the game. Lots of confusion with all the dementors there and all that rot."

"Sinus Powder?" asked Ginny warily and Harry could picture her going through her own things that night in case some of their newest product happened to make its way into her makeup kit. She had been an inadvertent lab rat too many times in the past not to be cautious now.

"Oh nothing dangerous sweet sister," assured Fred with saccharine sincerity. "Just enough to make him think he has come down with a bit of a cold, you see."

"And that, there," said George with a note of triumph in his voice, "says 'Curiously Capable Cold Remedy.'"

Harry laughed. "What does it really do?"

"Now you're asking for trade secrets," said Fred smugly.

"Let's just say that for 24-48 hours, Draco won't be very popular among his Slytherin set," said George innocently.

"Have fun, then," said Fred as the two rose.

"I thought you were…" began Harry in surprise.

"We thought you might have more fun," said Fred but Ron cut in.

"Having the poor blind kid do your dirty work for you?" he asked with a laugh.

"Of course," said Fred airily. "We take every opportunity to oppress the handicapped, particularly such helpless lads as Harry who do things like rush a whole bunch of dementors."

Harry laughed again. "No," he said, "it's perfect. Brilliant. I can't wait until dinner."

"Good," said George, "because it's time to go down now. Sorry to break up your little party and all that."

Harry wondered how best to give the trick potion to Draco. He thought of setting at Draco's place at the Slytherin table but he doubted he'd be able to find it. Then he considered having one of the House Elves slip it into Draco's drink but he hated to get them in trouble if it was discovered who did it. His best bet would be to find one of Draco's friends as they entered the Great Hall.

This, he discovered, proved to be just as difficult because it was so hard for him to identify people. In this instance, however, the mischief gods smiled upon him and he heard the unmistakable gravelly voice of Millicent Bulstrode in the entrance hall, just as he was heading toward the Great Hall doors. He knew she was rarely without her friends, so he took a guess.

"Pansy?" he said, flashing the girls a disarming grin, or so he hoped. "Pansy, is that you?"

"Harry, you know my voice?" she asked with a giggle toward her friend.

"Err, yeah," said Harry, then pulled an innocent face and began his story. "I feel bad about getting into a fight with Draco this afternoon and I heard he was getting a cold, so… well, Madame Pomfrey gave me this awhile back and I thought Draco could use it."

Harry held out the potion bottle.

"Harry, that's so sweet. I know poor Draco felt awful about the fight," said Pansy and Harry highly doubted it. "Of course I'll give it to him."

"Thanks," Harry said and decided not to push his luck, but turned and found the doorway to the Great Hall with his stick, automatically squinting against the light as he entered. He joined his friends at the Gryffindor table.

"Done. Done and dusted," he told them in answer to their whispered inquiries.

"Shhh," whispered Hermione to quell their rising giggles. "Here he comes."

Harry listened, watching the incoming flood of students but could not distinguish which was Draco. To his delight, Hermione leaned toward him without being prompted and whispered, "his nose is all red. There, she's giving it to him. He's looking at it, oops!"

She leaned away from Harry and ducked her head, pretending to be in deep conversation with Lavender Brown, who sat on her other side. Harry stared at his plate.

"There," she said, leaning back toward Harry. "He looked over at you. Way to look innocent and not catch his eye."

"Easy," chuckled Harry.

"Oooh, he's drinking it," her whisper rose toward a squeal.

Harry smiled smugly. "I'm going over there," he said. "Where is he?"

"He's just sitting down at the Slytherin table. He's, let me see, eight from the end on the far side."

As it turned out, Harry had no need to count heads to find Draco. The commotion that erupted from the nearby Slytherins identified him clearly to Harry. His friends were standing, backing away and waving their hands with muttered words of "Phew!" and "Bloody rank, mate." As Harry neared, he could smell the rancid odor of Draco's breath.

"Potter!" Draco's furious voice came out squeaky, as if he'd been sucking helium.

"Like I said before, Draco, the smell," said Harry waving a jaunty salute as he passed between the Slytherin table and the Hufflepuff table on his way back to his seat.

"That," said George as Harry passed him, "is a beautiful thing. Well done, Harry."

Harry grinned and resumed his empty seat at the Gryffindor table. It probably meant an extra detention with Snape but it was worth it.


	22. Chapter 22

There were a lot of things Harry would rather do on Monday evening at seven o'clock than serve detention in Professor Snape's dungeons. But he supposed he'd asked for it and now he got it.

With dragging feet, Harry headed down the stairs toward the dungeons after dinner. Was it a trick of the light or did the dungeons seem more ominously dim than usual? Perhaps Harry's eyes were just tired, but the stairs hardly showed to him at all. Likewise inside the empty Potions classroom, he couldn't make out the tables at all and had to find one using only his cane. A stab of fear rose in him that maybe his eyes were really getting worse.

He jumped when the door opened with a bang and Professor Snape strode into the room, his very footsteps echoing his irritation at having to interact with Harry more than absolutely necessary.

"I see you can manage to be on time when it suits you, Potter," he remarked with snide indifference. Harry did not answer. He resolved to stay quiet and get this over as quickly as possible.

"Get out your cauldron," said Snape, seating himself at his desk with a swish of his black robes and shuffling through a pile of papers to grade. "You're going to be brewing a Wolfsbane Potion for me. The instructions are on this."

Harry's stomach sank like a stone. Wolfsbane was one of the most difficult potions, generally reserved for upper-level coursework. He had never seen it done before but Hermione had read about the difficult, touchy potion during their essay on werewolves. Reluctantly, he rose to his feet and shuffled toward the desk and the frightening piece of paper Professor Snape held out to him. He couldn't see the paper, but when he got close enough to the desk, he held out a hand and felt it touch his palm. Wordlessly, he turned and made his way back to his table, set the paper on the table and looked down at it. As he'd expected, nothing, merely a blurry, blank expanse of grayish-white, blending at its edges into the soft texture of the table top.

He looked up toward Professor Snape, completely unsure what to say.

"Yes, Potter?" asked Snape irritably. Harry still said nothing. Finally Professor Snape's impatience got the better of him. "I spoke with Professor Lupin about this. He assured me you have been studying and would be able to read it."

Harry frowned in confusion, then touched the paper. A sea of tiny, dotted constellations covered it.

"Braille?" he asked incredulously, finding his voice at last.

"Well, it's not Arabic," said Snape grouchily, but Harry wondered if he heard just a hint of amusement in his voice at Harry's shock. "Professor Lupin feels it is important for you to begin reading your assignments for yourself and relying less on Miss Grainger to do your work for you, and on this topic I heartily agree."

Harry started to argue the point about Hermione doing his work for him, but decided it wasn't worth the effort; besides if he wanted to get out of here he'd better not annoy Professor Snape if he could help it. He began slowly at the top of the sheet, deciphering the words letter by slow letter, sometimes unsure which character he felt, then at last figuring it out by context. So far he only knew the alphabet, numbers and punctuation; he had yet to graduate to short forms, so he could not read published books. But this sheet had apparently been written by Lupin himself, using only what Harry had learned thus far.

Snape went back to his grading, his pen scratching angrily and Harry imagined him handing out poor marks to every essay he read. Grateful for the pen scratches that meant Professor Snape wasn't watching him, Harry pushed his fingers through the first line. By the time he reached the end of it, he'd forgotten what the beginning said. He sighed. This was going to take a long, long time.

Line by slow, crawling line, he read the list of ingredients. Now he needed to collect them from the supply cabinets. Usually he relied on Hermione or Ron to grab what he needed; this time he was on his own. Dare he ask Professor Snape for help? With a surge of determination, he vowed not to ask unless he absolutely could not do it himself. Taking the list with him, he got up and felt his way to the cabinets.

Each ingredient and utensil had been organized alphabetically and labeled. Snape insisted on running a tight ship since "sloppiness caused accidents" as he'd told them countless times. Harry opened the first door and gazed at the rows of shadowy, unidentifiable items. He wished he could crumple the list, throw it on the floor and walk away. There was no way on earth he would find the long list of ingredients, not if he was in detention for a month. And then he had to brew the potion after that. Harry set his forehead against the cool darkness of the inside of the cupboard door his determination draining away and leaving in its wake a calm hopelessness. The wood smelled spicy, he noticed, permeated by years and years of storing pungent dried herbs, incense, aromatic oils and sundry other odd items. Harry stood for a minute breathing in the scent.

Then it hit him. Most of the ingredients on the list had a distinctive smell. If he could get close enough using the alphabetical system of organization, perhaps he could find them using their aroma. Harry straightened up and set to work. With more concentration this time, he scanned the first few items on the list again. Having read through them once, the strange letters came much more readily to Harry's brain, though it was still painfully slow going and his fingers kept drifting off into the line below the one he was trying to read.

The first ingredient was Aconite and Harry started with the first shelf, carefully opening jars and bottle and boxes, fingering the ingredients, sniffing them and trying to recognize any that he'd used before. At the very far left was a dried plant with cup-shaped leaves; next to it Harry felt several tiny corked bottles. He suddenly remembered studying with Hermione that Acromantula venom was extremely rare and expensive; he guessed that is what the tiny bottles contained. If that were the case, Aconite would be just before it, actually the very first thing in the cabinet. Harry took out several of the plants, stalks with fragile dried leaves of some light color. Making up his mind, he laid them on the table and returned to his list.

The ingredient on the next line began with his old friend, the letter "F." At last he got it read. Fluxweed juice. Luckily he recognized the Flobberworms and just next to those was a bottle containing what surely must be Fluxweed juice. In the same way, he collected Pufferfish eyes, cut ginger root and several other ingredients, setting each one carefully on a table behind him, cautious lest he knock one over and spill it, or worse, lose it on the vast expanse of blurry floor.

Just to make sure, he read the list over once more, then as an afterthought took down a couple of pieces of Bitumus paper. Yes, now he had everything. A feeling of triumph akin to catching the Snitch washed over him. He'd done it! He'd faced the insurmountable problem of gathering his supplies and had conquered it without anyone else helping him. He'd had no idea it was even possible to do what he had just spent the last hour and a half doing. In addition, if he had to do it over again, he would do it in a fraction of the time.

"Potter!" barked Snape and Harry jumped. "I see that you will not even have time to begin brewing your potion tonight. I don't want to be here all night, so please be kind enough to return your ingredients and begin again tomorrow night."

Harry's heart sank. Snape's tone cut across the elation he'd felt only a few minutes earlier and he suddenly felt like a complete failure. What incompetent idiot would spent the entire two hours of detention just collecting supplies? He set the ingredients back in the cupboard, making a mental note as to the location of each so he could find them the next night. Then taking the sheet of instructions with him, he turned to leave the Potions classroom.

Once out in the hallway, however, he realized he was free for the evening and his step lightened. He found Ron and Hermione up in the Gryffindor common room playing Exploding Snap.

"Wow, Hermione, not studying?" Harry teased, stretching out on the floor in front of the fire.

"I was, actually," said Hermione, "but Ron wouldn't leave me alone."

Harry listened to the card game for a while, enjoying the warmth of the fire after the chill of the dungeons classroom. Hermione generally hit the Snap cards with her wand faster and was decidedly ahead of Ron, although he began to make a comeback as the cards shuffled themselves faster and faster. Harry wondered idly whether the game could be adapted for blind players. A week ago he would have dismissed the idea as impossible, but after his night in the dungeon working on an impossible potion, he'd begun to reconsider what was possible.

The more he thought about it, the more it seemed likely that the Shop of Requirement made Braille cards. If that were the case it would be pretty easy to adapt the rules so that everyone had to announce the cards in his or her hand before putting them down and hitting the Snaps. Harry pictured a tangle of wands as a table full of blind wizards played and he grinned to himself. He was sure it probably had happened.

"What did Snape make you do?" Ron asked Harry when the game was finished.

"Oh, he wants me to brew a Wolfsbane potion," said Harry lazily.

Hermione sat up straight. "You're kidding! That's hard, even for accomplished adult wizards."

"I know," said Harry. "He did have Lupin write the instructions for me in Braille, though."

"Well, that's unusually nice and helpful," said Ron dryly. "Are you sure it was Snape down there with you?"

"Pretty sure," said Harry grimly, thinking of the snide, condescending remarks.

"Suppose he's going to give you decent marks next?" Ron quipped.

"Not likely," answered Harry.

"I wonder why he set you such a hard assignment?" wondered Hermione.

"He likes to watch students fail?" said Harry aloud, but it struck him at that moment that what had happened down in the dungeons was exactly the opposite. Snape had pushed him and he'd succeeded, at least as far as he'd gotten. He frowned, wondering about this. Had Professor Snape done that on purpose again?

"Who knows why Professor Snape does what he does," said Ron dismissively. "Let's play again."

"I need to go study," said Hermione.

"Harry, want to play?" Ron tried, then amended, "oh, right, probably not. I forgot."

"Well," Harry said, sitting up, surprised at how little Ron's slip-up had bothered him. "Not tonight, but I was thinking about it and I think I could play if I got a Braille deck and we made a few new rules. I'll try to get one and we'll play another time, yeah?"

"Sure," agreed Ron.

At that moment a tapping sounded at the dark window. Ron rose to let in an owl who dropped a note into his hand. It read: "Rat caught. Come visit tomorrow afternoon, you and Harry. Hagrid."


	23. Chapter 23

After classes let out the next day, Harry and Ron headed down to Hagrid's hut. All day, neither of them had been able to concentrate on their classwork, resulting in points being taken during Potions and even Professor Lupin asking them what was on their minds in Defense Against the Dark Arts.

But finally, classes finished and they hurried as fast as they could down to Hagrid's, the twilight deepening around them, the air full of eddying flurries of the first snowfall. At their knock, Hagrid opened the door, exclaiming with delight at seeing them.

"I finally got ahold of that rat wot's been living in my cereal bin," he told Ron. "If it's not yers I think I'll keep 'im. Nice rat, that one." He went to get the drawer where he'd housed the rat until he could show Ron.

Ron took a look in the drawer and exclaimed with delight, "Scabbers!"

"Let me see him," insisted Harry urgently, holding out his hands for the rat.

He took the rat and touched its fur and paws but realized he had no idea what he was looking for. When the animal struggled against his hands, he put the rat back in the box-like drawer, then threw his coat over the top and asked Hagrid, "Is there a way to tell if an animal is really an animagus?"

At the question, the drawer began to shake as the rat scrabbled at the sides and the coat covering the top.

"Aww, let the poor thing out," said Hagrid. "Yeh'll suffocate 'im."

"Hagrid, is there a way to tell?" Harry asked again, holding the coat tight around the sides of the box.

"There is a spell, a very difficult spell," said Hagrid slowly. "I don't know it, just know it exists."

"I know someone who will know it," said Harry, picking up the drawer and tucking it under his left arm. "Come on, Ron."

"What are you doing with Scabbers?" asked Ron suspiciously.

"We have to find out for sure," said Harry. "Thanks, Hagrid!"

He set off for the castle with the wooden box under his arm, but he hadn't gotten halfway there when Ron tugged the box out of Harry's grasp.

"What are you doing?" yelled Harry furiously.

"You're suffocating him," said Ron, lifting the coat to gaze at his pet.

As soon as Ron lifted the coat, Harry heard the rat scrabbling against the sides of the box, as if making a bid for freedom.

"Scabbers! Come back!" called Ron.

"What have you done?" shouted Harry, suddenly aware that the rat had scampered out of the box and away through the grass.

"I've never seen him bolt like that," returned Ron sheepishly. "He usually comes right to me."

"You dolt!" said Harry through ground teeth as he angrily turned away from his friend. "You let him get away."

"Hey," said Ron. "It's my rat, after all."

"That's not the point," Harry said angrily. "He's a traitor."

"You're mad if you think my rat is an animagus. I think I'd have known," said Ron.

Harry said nothing but stormed up to the castle, leaving Ron standing in bewilderment on the grass. Ron was wrong. He had to be. Didn't the rat's recent behavior prove it?

Harry decided the best thing to do would be to find Professor Lupin as he'd intended to do when he still had the rat. Lupin might still have some advice about the matter and Harry had a couple of other questions as well. He headed up the stairs towards the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom, where he found Professor Lupin in his office reading essays.

"Hello, Harry," he greeted when Harry knocked at the open door. "I just finished grading your essay on Smugworts. I have to say your writing has improved even if your penmanship has not."

Harry ran a hand through his hair. "Yeah, well, I've been meaning to talk to you about that," he admitted.

"Come in, Harry, take a chair," put in Lupin genially.

Harry located a wooden chair at the front of Professor Lupin's desk and removed a stack of books, fuzzy with dust, from it. Setting the stack of books on a nearby tottering pile, he sat in the chair.

"Thanks, Professor," said Harry.

"So, then," said Lupin, "writing?"

"Yeah," said Harry miserably. "I think maybe my eyes are getting worse. I can't see what I write at all anymore, even if I write pretty big."

"Hmmm," said Professor Lupin and Harry could see the professor in his imagination sitting back and steepling his fingers. "Should you go see Madame Pomfrey?"

"I don't know," replied Harry. "She already said there was nothing she could do, and nothing St. Mungo's could do either. I'm not positive it's getting worse. Some days are better than others."

"From what I'm told, that's a common aspect of low vision," said Professor Lupin. "But back to your writing. It sounds like we need a different solution."

Harry nodded.

Professor Lupin pulled out a magazine and set it with a flap onto his desk. "This," he said cheerfully, "is a catalogue for the Shop of Requirement. I don't have a copy in Braille, unfortunately, but I know they produce them and you can get one from them later. For now, let's see what we can find."

He paged through the catalogue, reading off lists of interesting items to Harry: lighted magnifiers, books that turned their own pages, a Braille wristwatch. "Here we go," he exclaimed excitedly. "Dictation. They have a Quick Quotes Quill, favored by reporters, a DictaQuill and some rewritable parchment. Do any of those sound appealing?"

"Yeah," said Harry with enthusiasm. "One of those would probably work really well. Do they have any Braille card games?"

Lupin flipped a couple of pages. "Here we go. Braille poker decks, pinochle decks, Transforming Euchre…"

"Exploding Snap?" asked Harry hopefully.

Lupin snorted. "Good way to get your eyebrows singed. Yes, here we go. A Braille Exploding Snap deck, instructions and replacement cards for additional games."

"Brilliant," said Harry. "I'll get that and a DictaQuill."

Lupin began filling out an order form, then tied it into a roll and handed it to Harry. "Send two Sickles and a Knut with this," he said. "How is the quidditch going? I mean other than flying with a pack of dementors?"

"What happened with that?" asked Harry in confusion. "Why couldn't I see them at all? I mean I saw only darkness and I didn't even know they were there at all until Ron and Hermione told me later."

"Dementors are parasites," began Lupin thoughtfully, not really answering Harry. "They suck the happiness out of living beings, humans. They must have been drawn to the crowd of students on the quidditch pitch, all the excitement."

"But what are they? What do they look like?" asked Harry, still frowning.

"To muggles, they are invisible," said Lupin. "To wizards, they look like tall hooded figures in black, with clawlike hands and no faces."

Harry shivered. "I sort of felt claws grabbing at me as I flew, or flapping cloth," he said slowly. "But mostly it felt like mist."

"No one knows whether their bodies really take physical form. No one has gotten close enough to touch one. You've probably gotten the closest now of any wizard alive. I just about fainted when you flew right into them."

"I didn't mean to," said Harry defensively. "I didn't know they were there."

"Didn't you feel the cold, hear the screams?" asked Lupin.

"Well, yeah," said Harry, "but I was so scared already about the match I figured that's what it was."

"If they show up again, you need to be able to recognize them," said Lupin. "I'm not sure why you can't see their shapes."

"I felt like I was falling, like I was in a well," said Harry, struggling for words to describe the feeling. "I heard screaming and saw flashing green light."

"I thought you couldn't see color?" asked Lupin, startled.

"I can't," said Harry.

"They affect everyone a little differently," explained Lupin. "They may affect you more strongly because of what has happened to you. The screaming may be from those around you or it may be a memory. The green light is most definitely a memory.

"How did you get rid of the one on the train?" asked Harry. "Can I learn to do that?"

"A Patronus charm is a difficult piece of advanced magic," said Lupin. "But if you want to try, I'll teach you. Not tonight, however. It's dinner time."

"Wait," said Harry urgently. "I almost forgot." He told Lupin about the loss of Ron's rat, then the reappearance of it in Hagrid's hut and the spat with Ron as he accidentally let his pet go free.

"Hmm," said Lupin, pushing back the pile of papers on his desk and rising slowly to his feet. He let out a long sigh as he did so.

"Are you okay, Professor?" asked Harry.

"Yes, it's just getting close to… close to the full moon again," he admitted with a sigh.

"Oh," said Harry, somehow touched at Lupin's honesty. So often Harry hid his own pain from those around him that the admission of the fact from Professor Lupin mean that much more to Harry and he wished he could convey the sense of understanding he felt. He didn't know what to say, however, so he said, "what should I do about the rat? I was going to bring it to you and Sirius…"

"Shhh," cautioned Lupin. "Don't say his name in here."

"Oh, right, sorry," said Harry, lapsing into silence.

"I would like very much to take a look at this rat. Ron seems sure it can't be Pettigrew?" Lupin seemed thoughtful.

"Yeah," said Harry, standing and unfolding his cane.

"Until he is recaptured, we won't know," said Lupin. "Keep your eyes open."

"Uhhh, yeah," laughed Harry and Lupin chuckled.

Together they headed out of the room, then parted ways, Harry going up to the owlery to find Hedwig and post his owl order for the Shop of Requirement, and Lupin going toward the Great Hall and dinner.

[break]

Without waiting for Professor Snape, Harry began collecting his ingredients for the Wolfsbane potion that evening in the dungeon classroom. He'd read the list so many times the night before he now had it memorized and he remembered the location of nearly all of the supplies he'd gathered the night before. It seemed like no time at all before he was back at his table with a pile of plants and an assortment of glass bottles in front of him.

As always, the shredding, grinding and chopping were the easiest tasks. Measuring proved to be more difficult; although by holding it close, he could see the distinct black lines on the glass cup and take a stab at the numbers, he couldn't distinguish the placement of the liquid inside. Finally, with a combination of holding it in front of his nose and squinting, he was reasonably sure he'd gotten it right. He was willing to be the Shop of Requirement sold measuring cups with Braille and he wished he'd thought of one before he sent Hedwig off to them. He set the cup on the desk.

Unlike his usual careless approach to Potions, Harry took extreme care to read his Braille instructions over and over to be sure he didn't miss a detail. He was just going over the timing of the second ingredient when the door was flung open and Professor Snap strode into the room. Harry didn't expect any praise for starting early and it turned out he was right. Snape stalked to his desk without a word and soon Harry heard the scratching of a quill. Keeping his eyes on his work, Harry smothered a smile and continued shredding aconite leaves.

"Aconite is poisonous, you know," said Professor Snape out of nowhere, startling Harry. "If you brew this wrong, the drinker will die."

"You're going to give this to Professor Lupin?" Harry asked incredulously.

"How did you know it was for…" began Snape, then stopped himself. "Of course. Why else would you be making it?"

"B-b-but what if I do it wrong?" stammered Harry.

"Don't do it wrong," said Snape and Harry could see the curl of Snape's lip in his mind as the professor spoke.

Harry went back to work. He shredded leaves, then weighed them using his scale, lining the small metal weights up in a row, like a family of tiny dwarves, to make sure he used the correct one. Just that morning he'd had Hermione read him the markings on each one and he'd noted them in Braille; now he lined the weights up on the Braille card by size in front of the correct numbers. It took a lot of shredded leaves to achieve the correct weight and he worried he'd gotten too many.

Harry jumped again when Snape cleared his throat. "You may store your cauldron and supplies in my office," he said, "and resume your work tomorrow night."

With alacrity, Harry cleaned up his ingredients, making neat piles on the table in the little side room so he could locate them again. Then he left the Potions classroom.


	24. Chapter 24

The next afternoon Harry sat in the Gryffindor common room with the ponderous Braille book open on his lap. Having learned his way around the alphabet and punctuation, Lupin had set him memorizing the first of many short-form contractions. This turned out to be more difficult than the alphabet as the lists of words seemed to stretch on forever. Not to mention that some did not even make sense to Harry. What idiot thought that having the letter "X" stand for the word "it" made any sort of reasonable logic? Harry yawned and stretched his arms above his head and Crookshanks sprang into his lap, padding happily around on the open book and settling himself into a large, squashy ball, right where Harry needed to read. Harry grinned and stroked the cat's fur, imagining his conversation with Professor Lupin the next day: he would apologize for not learning his assignment because a cat had been sleeping on his book.

The portrait-hole slammed open and Ron stomped into the common room.

"Damn rat. I've been looking everywhere," he said by way of greeting.

At these words, Crookshanks leapt from Harry's lap and bolted from the room.

"Err, hi Ron," said Harry, unsure if Ron was angry with him or even if he was still angry with Ron. Every time he thought about Ron letting the rat go, his face flushed again, but he still had trouble holding a grudge against his best mate.

Ron dumped himself into a chair across from Harry and swung his boots with a thud onto the table.

"Look, mate," he said, sitting up again. "I'm really sorry. I mean I had no idea that bloody rat would…"

"Nah," said Harry, his fingers idly tracing a letter "T" and a piece of cat hair on the page of his book. "It's ok, really. We'll find him again. Maybe he went back to Hagrid's cereal."

"Bloody likely," said Ron in disgust. "When I find him, I'd like to squeeze him myself, pulling a trick like that."

Harry said nothing, but grinned to himself at Ron's flare of anger.

"Astronomy tonight," said Ron. "Weather's clear as a bell. Been a while."

Harry nodded, his attention still more than half on the words "that, us, very, will, it, you, as" running under his fingers.

"Bugger," said Ron, failing to get a rise out of Harry. "You'll have to go from detention with Snape directly to Astronomy."

Harry looked up at this. "Oh, you're right," he said in dismay.

"Oh here," Ron said. "Package came for you. I talked Hedwig into giving it to me instead."

"How did you do that?" asked Harry, somewhat annoyed.

"A bit of biscuit," replied Ron smugly. "Catch."

Harry held up both hands and Ron tossed the small parcel into them. Excitedly, Harry undid the string and ripped off the coarse paper. A rattling box, several folded sheets of paper and a quill fell out onto his book. He unfolded the paper. Fortunately, it was written in Braille; unfortunately, it used all the Grade 2 short-forms Harry had yet to learn.

"Blimey!" said Ron enthusiastically. "Exploding Snap cards." He picked up the box of cards.

Harry grinned, picking up the quill. "Check this," he directed. "A DictaQuill."

"What's it do?" asked Ron.

"I think it writes what I say," said Harry. "Let's try it." He shoved the book to the floor, pulling a somewhat crumpled piece of parchment from his school bag. Spreading it out, he set the quill on it.

"Ronald Weasley is a lowdown, idiotic git," he began, but had to stop when Ron yelled a protest and grabbed the quill.

"Did it work?" asked Harry.

Ron picked up the parchment and dramatically clearing his voice he read aloud, "Ronald Weasley is a rare genius of the first water…" he read in a stentorian voice. "Yeah, looks like it worked fine."

Harry burst out laughing and made an attempt at grabbing the quill back, but missed, so he tackled Ron, wrestling the quill and crinkled parchment from his hands.

"Will you two come on?" snapped Hermione from the portrait hole.

"Oh yeah," said Ron sheepishly. "I was supposed to get you for dinner. Hermione's worse than Mum." At this, he was rewarded with a sound from Hermione that told Harry she was probably sticking her tongue out.

After dinner was over, Harry made his way down to the dungeons, oddly anticipating the time he would spend working on the Wolfsbane potion. He supposed he ought to dread going to a detention, and with Snape, no less, but he found the occasion of working in the solitary classroom strangely soothing. With no one looking over his shoulder he found that he could concentrate fully on his work and use whatever method worked best for doing the job, whether it be touch, smell, or peering very closely at the object he held.

Tonight when Harry entered the room, Snape already sat at his desk, but he didn't say more than a brief, "Potter" and resumed his grading. Harry said nothing, but went directly to the small office where he methodically began to retrieve his supplies.

This time he actually needed to begin brewing the potion. The first step required him to boil several liquids for seven minutes, then add the aconite and wait for a color change. For this potion, however, the color change did not indicate magical potency so the Bitumus paper was useless. Harry pondered both the time and the color problems. The time would be easy if he had the right kind of timer or watch from the Shop of Requirement, but he did not have one.

"Sir?" he asked Professor Snape.

Snape responded with an irritated, "yes, Potter?"

"May I go get my clock?" Harry asked with a sinking feeling. He doubted Snape would release him from detention to go up to his dorm, past the tempting common room full of friends.

"You ought to have brought everything you require," said Snape with a nasty note of triumph in his voice as if he'd finally trapped Harry into failing.

"Err, yes, sir," agreed Harry, wondering what he would do without a clock.

Snape rose to his feet and stood for a moment, staring at Harry; at least Harry, wishing he could disappear, couldn't tell what else Snape would be doing, standing there. Then, with a swish of his long cloak he walked into his office and was back in a moment with a round wall clock in his hands which he set on the desk beside Harry. Along with the minute, hour and second hands which thankfully were large enough for Harry to see if he held it close, the clock showed several other, smaller dials.

"Thank you, sir," said Harry in surprise.

Snape did not answer but returned in silence to his office.

"Next time bring your own," he said, thrusting his head back through the open office door.

"Yes, sir," Harry said simply.

Harry pulled from his school bag the packet of Chameleon Tea Flowers he'd bought in Diagon Alley. Once his potion was fairly bubbling and he'd noted the time, he took one of the tiny seeds and dropped it into the cauldron. To his surprise and delight, a lily sprang upward out of the potion and Harry took it into his hand, touching the six-pointed leaves. He had no idea what color the lily was, but his hope was that the next flower would be different.

The next hour flew by almost too easily. Watching the clock, Harry easily extinguished his fire at precisely seven minutes and then added the aconite leaves, stirring them carefully sixteen times clockwise and thirty-four times counterclockwise. Another Chameleon Tea flower seed sprang into his hand as a round-petaled tulip, confirming the color change he needed. He continued step by step down his list of instructions until, when he finally reached the end he was shocked that he had actually finished.

Professor Snape, meanwhile, had been rummaging in his office, clanking bottles and jars on shelves that housed his own private stores. Harry, who had expected that Snape would breathe down his neck during the process of making the potion, had been pleasantly surprised to be left alone.

He took out the flask Professor Snape had given him, filled it with his newly completed potion and corked it with a feeling of intense satisfaction and relief. He'd actually done it, brewed a potion that many considered one of the most difficult to make. Using Hermione's "tersum sempre" spell, he cleaned his cauldron, tossed the spent Tea Flowers in the bin and tucked everything back into his bag. Then he left the room, pleased that he was finished with detention and could join his team on the quidditch pitch the next night.

[break]

Along with Ron and Hermione, Harry climbed the endless winding flight of stairs to the Astronomy Tower. This year, Professor Sinistra had not held Astronomy classes for them during the fall because Third Years studied only the constellations visible during the winter months. Then too, they had waited for a break in the weather when the stars would be visible.

As he rose out of the floor of the tallest tower, Harry shivered in the icy wind that never stopped blowing up here. The night surrounded him with its thin darkness, the clear air shed of every particle of the day's warmth. He pulled his muffler tighter around him and raised his hood, doubling his cane twice and tucking it into a pocket so he could fold his hands tightly against his chest.

"Aaahhh," sighed Hermione in bliss as she stepped to the top. "They are so beautiful."

Harry looked up. The night sky spanning the circle of the earth above him looked soft, like a depthless, trackless, inverted sea. Not a single star penetrated the dark mist that lay between his eyes and the crisp song of the clear night sky.

Harry tore his eyes away and looked down at his knees, his throat tight, tears prickling close to the surface. He hadn't known he would miss the stars. He hadn't known the last time he was up here that it was the last time he would see the swath of the Milky Way spilled across the unfathomable dome above him. He swallowed hard, struggling with the rush of unexpected grief that welled up inside of him, grief that the beauty Hermione saw existed for him only in his imagination and memory. He hadn't looked for this feeling tonight; he did not welcome it now that it had thrust itself upon him like a visitor one would rather not have in one's home.

He looked up again, letting his hood fall back onto his shoulders, his gaze desperately searching for even one point of light to penetrate, for even one or two of the brightest stars to show themselves to him but they all remained hidden. Only the moon, too-bright, soft and fuzzy and blurred into a wide shifting mass of light occupied the sky and illuminated a path in the rippling lake far below, casting an edge of silver onto the tree-clad tops of the mountains nearby.

"Isn't it grand?" asked Ron, poking Harry delightedly in the ribs.

Harry swallowed hard again, willing the lump to go down from his throat, wishing the hovering tears to dry themselves or disappear. He opened his mouth to speak, to answer Ron, but no sound came out and the darkness hid his sadness under its cloak of secrecy. Ron did not press, but began rummaging in his bag for the parts of his telescope, eager to set it up in a good spot near the railing. Harry remained where he was, staring hard into the soft, deep sky.

Once the class got underway, Harry began to feel better. He set up his telescope and discovered that with its magnification, he could make out a few of the nearer planets, although with considerably less detail than before. He found the large star charts to be surprisingly easy to see in the moonlight, their white-on-black glowing dots and circles showing up well, although he had trouble reading the smaller names. When Professor Sinistra – who looked, Hermione once told Harry, exactly like Lord Licorice in her childhood Candyland game – set them in motion, Harry almost laughed since the revolving lighted constellations seemed so real.

Along with the rest of the class, Harry studied and diagrammed Orion, labeling Rigel and Betelgeuse, finding them through his telescope after much searching, but unable to see the rest of Orion's stars. At the end of the class, Harry stood for a few moments, gazing at the invisible warrior in the southern night sky, making him a silent promise that he, Harry, would continue to fight. He realized now that he wasn't just fighting dark wizards, but his enemy was deeper and more subtle; he was fighting a darkness within himself. A darkness that told him to give up, to wallow in self-pity and depression, a voice that whispered to him in the middle of the night when he awoke in his bed in Gryffindor Tower that life was unfair, was too hard, or that he should take the easiest way out. Perhaps Orion, dancing resolutely his kingly waltz across the winter sky, knew that this was the true battle, the one that no one else could see, the one waged on a secret battlefield that existed only in the mind and heart and will. Perhaps the warrior had once faced such a battle himself, and Harry had no doubt that the mighty Orion had triumphed.


	25. Chapter 25

During the next quidditch match before Christmas, Hufflepuff faced Ravenclaw and Harry was happily able to relax and simply enjoy the match. Although the players looked like nothing so much as colorless blurs darting to and fro on the pitch, Harry found that Lee Jordan's hilarious commentary provided him with plenty of information to follow the route of the game. Harry sat with his friends in the frosty stadium letting off steam, yelling at the top of his lungs at the two teams, thinking with a grin in particular about the Ravenclaw Seeker, Cho Chang, and her shiny, flowing black hair.

One morning at breakfast as the owls swooped overhead dropping letters on students' plates, Ron jumped to his feet in excitement, a freshly opened letter held tightly in his upraised fist. Harry pulled him down to a sitting position again but had hard work of it to get him calmed down enough to tell him what the fuss was about.

"Mum's invited you to come spend Christmas with us at the Burrow," Ron finally told him.

Harry jumped to his feet excitedly. "Brilliant!" he exclaimed with delight.

At last, he and Ron sat down again to resume their breakfasts. Harry noticed Hermione sat very still and quiet next to him.

"What is it?” he asked her.

"It's all jolly well for you two, having such fun over the hols," she said sourly. "I mean it's fine seeing Mum and Dad and all that but they're so dull."

"Oh, stow it," said Ron with feigned disgust. "You're invited too."

"What?" squealed Hermione. "Why didn't you say so, you git?" she leaned over Harry to punch Ron who cheerfully returned the gesture, Harry leaning back as far as he could to avoid the flying fists.

"Okay, okay," he said, laughing. "You're going to get Professor McGonagall over here if you two don't shut up." To his surprise, Hermione grabbed him around the neck in a joyful hug and dropped a little kiss on his cheek.

"Happy Christmas, Harry," she said and he grinned.

The next two weeks were spent in such a flurry of finishing classes, packing and doing extra homework to leave the break free for as much fun as possible that Harry hardly noticed the enchanted snow in the Great Hall or the scent of fir from the twelve Christmas trees Hagrid brought in from the Forbidden Forest. Peeves, the Poltergeist, who had lain low most of the year due to a nasty run-in with Filch's cat, Mrs. Norris, worked up enough holiday cheer to whoosh around the halls singing "Deck the halls with guts and eyeballs," to the mirth of the first-year boys. All over the castle excitement reached a fever pitch for the Christmas holidays.

Up in his dorm, Harry tossed his yet-unopened box of Exploding Snap cards into his trunk along with his Nimbus 2000. The morning they were to leave he coaxed Hedwig down from the owlery with a treat, although she hooted and ruffled her feathers at suffering the indignity of being caged for the trip.

As if to match the mood of the happy students, the sun shone on the Hogsmeade station where the gleaming engine of the Hogwarts Express chuffed and steamed. As usual, Harry squinted against the light, hoping today of all days he wouldn't get a headache, but his spirits were too high to be so easily dampened. He was reminded just how much he had learned that semester as he walked with his friends easily down to the station, climbed the stairs and entered the train without once tripping or running into anything. Using his cane felt, if not exactly natural, at least quite a bit more practiced and even when he had to close his eyes for a while against the light he still felt fairly confident in moving around. Grinning to himself, he told himself to remember to thank Professor Lupin for the lessons.

Never had a south-bound train ride seemed so much fun. Usually, Harry's heart was heavy whenever he left Hogwarts, knowing that he was bound for Privet Drive. But this time, the rhythm of the train, instead of taking him to the Dursleys with its grim clacking now sang a joyful cadence of holiday and anticipation. In almost no time, the train whooshed to a stop at King's Cross. Ron, leaning over Harry to peer out between the closed curtains over the train's window, yelled, "There's Mum! And Dad's there, too!"

All three of them pushed their way through the crowded, narrow hallway and piled down the steps onto the platform. Pressing through the crowd, Harry felt a little disoriented and clutched at Hermione's sleeve to prevent himself from being separated from her and Ron by the mob. Harry had always resisted the idea of taking someone's arm and when Lupin offered to teach him how to walk "sighted lead" he'd declined. At this moment, however, he wished he knew how it was done.

The awkward moment passed and soon he was swallowed in Molly Weasley's warm hug with Arthur patting him on the back and shaking Ron's hand, both at the same time. They were joined almost immediately by Ginny, then Fred and George. Finally, Harry heard Percy's voice, telling his father pompously about how he'd been delayed by his duties as Head Boy. Harry's grin threatened to split his face in two.

Finally, Molly let go of him and stood back to look him over.

"Harry, dear, why didn't you tell us what happened?" she asked, half scolding, half concerned.

"Well, I, err," fumbled Harry, thinking of that frightening, confusing day on Platform 9 ¾ when all he could think of was getting to Hogwarts as fast as he could.

"Never mind, dear," she soothed. "I should have paid better attention. When your letters got to be so few toward the end of the summer, you know, we worried, but in all the hustle of getting you all onto the train, I didn't even think to ask."

"Err, it's okay," said Harry, getting rather red in the face. "I'm fine, really."

"Well," she said amiably. "You certainly put a brave face on it."

Harry frowned a little, irritated by her words. He wasn't putting a brave face on it at all; rather he wanted to stop her fussing over him. And he really was doing fine. He'd learned to get about on his own, he was learning to read again and he'd even brewed a fiendishly difficult Wolfsbane potion. At the same time, none of this seemed particularly brave to him.

But with Molly, one could never stay irritated at her mothering for long. She gave Harry a squeeze and rumpled his hair, and he grinned up at her, even through his annoyance at feeling someone expressing concern over him. Arthur picked up his satchel and Hedwig's cage then they went about the business of collecting all their trunks and baggage, getting trolleys for everyone and extricating themselves from the crowd.

It was late afternoon when they finally arrived at the Burrow and everyone was glad to see the large pot of stew that Molly had charmed to begin bubbling on the stove at their arrival. Soon they were all provided with chunks of fresh bread and were digging in heartily. Before he sat, Harry released Hedwig from her cage to join Errol on his perch by the kitchen window.

Harry listened to the talk and laughter move around the table like a current. On Harry's right, Fred, Ron, and George poured forth a lively commentary on the quidditch tournament, along with Harry's tryouts and the ill-fated dementor invasion. At the same time on Harry's other side, Hermione and Ginny told Molly all about Ginny's problems with "that git, Alfred" and Hermione ran on enthusiastically about Ancient Runes, which made Harry prick up his ears, since he hadn't been aware she was even taking that class.

All at once Percy piped up, "but where in the world is Scabbers?" and a silence fell over the table as Harry, Ron and Hermione all froze.

"He, err," began Ron, "ran off one day."

"Scabbers ran off?" said Percy in disbelief. "He never runs anywhere."

"Yeah," said Ron miserably. "I know."

Harry said nothing, looking at his plate. He wondered how much to tell Arthur and Molly about Sirius and the hunt for Peter Pettigrew. Arthur worked at the Ministry of Magic, Harry knew, and he might just as likely turn Sirius in as help him.

Ron must have had the same thought, because he quickly changed the subject. "Dad, any new muggle rubbish?" he asked, which launched Arthur into a delighted spiel on the merits of the typewriter he'd restored and enchanted into taking dictation.

"It would be a great thing for you to use at school, Harry," he enthused, but Harry cringed at the thought of the attention such a device would bring.

"Yeah," he said, trying to sound enthused, but mentally imagining himself hiding under his bed to use it.

After dinner, everyone gathered in the living room with cards and games or books. Percy turned on the old wooden wireless, patiently adjusting the knob as a hazy crackle of static emitted from the ancient machine. At last, he faintly picked up a station playing Christmas music and as if on cue, Hermione nudged Harry. "It's snowing," she said, a happy smile in her voice. Harry smiled back.

Harry, Ron, and Hermione sat around the low table in the middle of the room, Ron opening Harry's box of Exploding Snap cards. Arthur sat on the sofa with a rustling copy of the Daily Prophet and Molly sat beside him, her knitting needles clicking away on their own beside her. Ginny sat in one corner with a book and Fred and George guarded a big plate of Christmas cookies, each trying to outdo the other in charming the gingerbread men to twist themselves into a knot or dance an Irish jig. Harry looked around at them all with a deep feeling of contentment. Although he could see nothing but the flickering movement of the firelight around the room, he knew it was filled with family.

Ron finished dealing the cards while Hermione examined the folded paper containing the rules, luckily written in print as well as Braille.

"We have to keep the cards facing us," she announced, "until everyone has finished reading his or her card."

"She means you, mate," said Ron, nudging Harry.

"Yeah, the thick one," agreed Harry ruefully, but Hermione defended him.

"Hey, you're just learning. And you can read it faster than we can."

"Considering I can't read it at all," said Ron, feeling the bumps on the card he held. "How do you read this stuff anyway, Harry?"

Harry laughed. "Slowly," he said.

"Anyway," said Hermione in a mock-annoyed tone. "Once everyone has read a card we count to three, then all together, say your card aloud and lay it on the table. Then if two cards are the same, there is a snap, so hit the cards with your wand."

"Yeah, we know that part," said Ron disgustedly. "Can we get after it then?"

Hermione snorted. "Who is always calling me impatient?" she asked with a smirk in her voice.

Harry didn't know if the game would be as fun without the fast-paced self-shuffling deck, but he was willing to give it a go, so they each took their pack of cards and began. To his surprise he found the game not only easy but fun as they simultaneously shouted the name of the witch or wizard on their snap cards. Harry did not have as much trouble with the Braille as he'd feared and he often got to the snap first with his wand, although holding it in his left hand while he read the Braille with his right caused him once to dump his whole pack of cards, also held in his left hand, when he excitedly reached forward to tap a match. Not only did the snap explode but Harry's whole pile of cards exploded with a bang that made everyone in the room jump, and Molly exclaimed, "Oh my goodness!"

"Well, I guess that means I lost," said Harry, as Ron burst into a roar of laughter and even Hermione chuckled nervously after she'd recovered from the shock of the loud noise.

Late that night, Harry lay awake in the dimness of Ron's room wishing he could wish Sirius a Happy Christmas. Thinking of his godfather hiding in the small room day after long, lonely day, worrying about him made Harry feel so miserable he almost forgot the next day was Christmas. He had wished Professor Lupin a Happy Christmas before he'd left but there had been no chance to find the long hallway or to speak with Sirius. He considered sending Hedwig but he didn't want to draw attention to his godfather. He resolved to try even harder next term to find Peter Pettigrew and to clear Sirius' name so he could come out of hiding. Long into the night he lay awake and at last dropped into an uneasy sleep.

With the next morning's light, however, Harry forgot all about feeling sad. At the foot of his bed rested a pile of gifts of all shapes and sizes and from Ron's exclamations of glee, he must have found a similar pile on his own bed.

One large, squashy parcel turned out to contain a knitted jumper from Mrs. Weasley. Harry held it up.

"What color is it?" he asked Ron.

"It's red," said Ron who apparently did not possess an artistic sense of description "with a lion on the front."

The next gift Harry opened was a thoughtfully wrapped elastic band and a card he couldn't read which he assumed came from the Dursleys. Another small package from Hermione contained chocolate frogs and she'd taken the time to order cards with Braille on them.

The last gift was long and stiff and Harry's heart beat rather more quickly than usual as his fingers found a card, transcribed into Braille, probably by Professor Lupin. The card read, "Happy Christmas, Harry. Hope this makes up for a lot of past holidays. S."

Harry opened it and found a brand-new Firebolt inside.

"Bloody hell," said Ron in open-mouthed admiration as Harry held it up and the shiny wood caught the light. "Who is that from?"

"I think I'd better not say," said Harry conspiratorially and he re-read the card with a warm feeling.

"What are you going to do with two brooms?" asked Ron.

"I'm not sure," answered Harry. "I'll think of something."

The smell of eggs and sausages wafted up the stairs and boy boys dressed and headed down to join the family at the table. Harry wore the new togs and was rewarded with a hug from Mrs. Weasley. Everyone around the table was similarly clothed, Harry supposed, owing to the year-long busyness of Mrs. Weasley's enchanted knitting needles. Once again, he missed the bright colors, but he was soon distracted by the pile of pastries sitting directly in front of his plate.

After breakfast, everyone piled out of doors to play in the fresh, soft new snow that had fallen all night. Fred and George enchanted their snowballs to target Ginny; even when she ran shrieking into the broom shed she was pursued by an army of very insistent cold, white balls. To retaliate, Hermione charmed hers to hover above the twins' heads, dropping bits of themselves down coat collars whenever the twins weren't looking.

Harry found the brilliant white light washed out the few details he could usually see outside. He wondered for a moment if his darkening lenses had stopped working but when he took off his glasses to check, the light rushed into his eyes, forcing them to close against the onrush of pain. He snorted in disgust and put his glasses back on, resigning himself to playing in a total white-out.

Ron wanted to try out Harry's new Firebolt, and Harry, in happy agreement, retrieved both of his brooms.

"You're so lucky," said Ron wistfully. "Two good brooms."

Harry couldn't disagree there, and since he felt generous he let Ron have the first go at the Firebolt.

They raced, skimming along the orchard.

"Whoa, mate!" yelled Ron and Harry swung around to avoid the row of trees at the far end he couldn't see. The next time around he wasn't so lucky and found himself in a snowy tangle of branches. But in spite of sundry scrapes and bruises, he had a wonderful forenoon flying in the crisp shining air, whooping and hollering. Soon the other Weasleys and Hermione joined them.

"We have enough for a real match," said Fred delightedly and pulled out the Weasleys' rather battered quidditch set. Harry pulled out his beeping Snitch, setting it to fly no higher than the tall trees that bounded the Weasleys' orchard so it would not be spotted by a muggle family out sledding.

Ginny played Keeper/Seeker for Percy's team, which included Fred and Hermione, playing against George, Harry, and Ron. Since Harry was opposite her, he had to be Keeper which struck him as hilariously ironic considering all he could see was white. He managed it by getting the players to yell "Voy" as they approached, then tackled them from his broom, sending them laughing and tumbling into the soft banks of snow below.

It was a happy, tired, and red-cheeked crew that gathered for lunch around Mrs' Weasley's crowded kitchen table where she'd outdone herself with a giant roasted turkey and a beautiful plum pudding worthy of Charles Dickens himself.

Harry thought happily that it was the best Christmas he'd ever had.


	26. Chapter 26

Back at school again after the Christmas holidays, Harry was sitting in the Gryffindor Common Room on the first afternoon of classes, drawing a star chart for Astronomy class. Since Ron was in the Library and Hermione in Arithmancy, Harry was alone in the twilight, the perfect light for reading, and he used his bubble magnifier to look at the sample chart he copied. He could see the stars and their positions but the names had been written too small. So he and Professor Lupin had gone through them the night before and made a separate list in Braille of the names.

He was concentrating so hard that when a  _ Crack! _ sounded through the room, he jumped and dropped his quill, dribbling ink across the chart. Small, soft footsteps pattered across the room toward the fireplace and Harry asked tentatively, "Who's there?"

"Oh!" said a small voice in surprise and Harry heard a rattle as a bin of coal fell to the floor. "Dobby did not know there was anyone in the dark room!"

"Dobby!" Harry exclaimed. "What are you doing here at Hogwarts?"

"Is it Harry Potter sitting alone in the dark?" asked Dobby, shocked. "Oh, Harry Potter, Dobby did not know you were here."

"It's okay, Dobby. I'm glad to see you," said Harry, trying to calm the agitated little elf. "Why are you at Hogwarts?"

"Oh, Dobby works here at Hogwarts School now," said Dobby proudly.

"You do?" exclaimed Harry in surprise.

"Professor Dumbledore gave Dobby a job here. Think! A real job!" Dobby's voice held such pride that Harry smiled broadly. Then he frowned slightly.

"But why haven't I seen you all last term?" asked Harry in confusion.

To his consternation, Dobby took the handle of the poker he carried and began beating himself around the head with it.

"Stop!" said Harry in alarm. "What's wrong?"

"Dobby dared not come see Harry Potter. Dobby failed Harry Potter." Dobby's voice held a dismal note of sorrow.

"What do you mean?" asked Harry in bewilderment. "You rescued me this summer, didn't you?"

"Yes," Dobby agreed.

"How did you fail me?" asked Harry.

"Dobby did not prevent Harry Potter's eyes from being damaged," he wailed.

"Oh, Dobby," said Harry with a soft sigh. "You have been feeling guilty this whole time?"

Dobby continued to sob.

"You didn't cause my accident," Harry said slowly. "And you rescued me before they killed me. That's pretty good, really."

"Harry Potter is not angry with Dobby?" asked the creature in wonder, his sobs growing fewer.

"No, not at all. I am grateful to you," said Harry firmly.

"Harry Potter is grateful to Dobby?" asked the elf in disbelief.

"Absolutely. How did you find me to rescue me this summer, anyway?" asked Harry, thinking back that horrible, disorienting ten seconds when his life changed forever.

"Dobby mustn't tell," said the elf evasively, picking up his coal scuttle again with a clank.

"What? Why not?" asked Harry in confusion. "Did Sirius…"

"No, no!" squeaked Dobby, "Harry Potter mustn't say it. Dobby will come back and build a fire later."

"Wait," shouted Harry. "No, stop. I won't ask. You can go ahead and build your fire."

Without speaking, Dobby knelt by the fireplace and began to sweep the hearth.

After the fire was crackling merrily and the elf had gone, Harry sat for a few minutes thinking about what Dobby had said. He decided he needed to speak with Sirius about what had happened to him this last summer. He started up toward the hallway where he usually found Sirius. When he got there the corridor was silent.

Harry waited, listening to the silence and the faint, soft snoring from an old wizard in a dusty portrait high above him.

"Hello?" Harry said, hoping it would work this time as it had previously.

Instead of Sirius's soft voice, Harry heard a growl, near and menacing. In the fading silver daylight from the end of the hall, Harry could see the low, dark canine shape he had expected but rather than coming chummily forward, the shadow crouched lower, its rumbling growl almost shaking the stone walls, heavy though they were.

Confused, Harry began backing away. Fear prickled along his skin. What was that thing?

Footsteps sounded from the other direction.

"Oh, hello, Harry," said Professor Lupin, rounding the corner into the long corridor.

"Professor," said Harry in a low voice, "what is that?" He gestured down the hallway toward the crouching shadow.

"What is what?" asked Lupin.

"Is it Sirius? Why is he growling?" asked Harry, still almost in a whisper.

"Harry," said Lupin in confusion, "there is nothing there."

Harry turned to face Lupin. "There is," he insisted, turning to face the terrifying shadow. "It's… it's not there now."

He felt foolish. Had he imagined the dark shadow? Had he been so intent on Sirius that he'd imagined a growling dog? Lupin said nothing for a few cringing moments.

"I-I-I was looking for…" Harry did not say his name.

"He is not here at the moment," said Lupin. "He left during the Christmas holiday to search in the Forbidden Forest and has not returned. I expect he will come when it is safe for him to do so."

This news left Harry feeling oddly deflated. The castle seemed somehow colder, emptier with the knowledge that his godfather was not in it.

"I am glad to see you, however," continued Lupin. "Would you like to begin studying the Patronus charm?"

"Err, yeah, I suppose so," assented Harry.

They walked together toward the Defense against the Dark Arts classroom.

"Did you have a happy Christmas?" asked Lupin.

Harry nodded enthusiastically. He told Lupin about his two weeks at the Burrow, of the quidditch games and the popcorn around the fire in the evenings. Lupin laughed at the stories of the Laughing-Taffy pull and the games of Exploding Snap.

"But I was really worried about… my godfather," finished Harry.

"Oh he was all right," said Lupin carelessly. "He is focused on his task, and his greatest joy was knowing you were happy."

In short order they reached the classroom where Lupin cleared the desks and chairs out of the way to give them room to work.

"First of all," began Lupin, "we need to talk about techniques that blind wizards use for doing advanced wand work."

"I've wondered about that," said Harry. "So far I have only cast spells at something I can touch. I have no idea how to aim at something farther away."

"It can be difficult and dangerous," replied Professor Lupin. "For instance, a wizard's duel takes quite a lot of practice to execute successfully."

"Blind wizards can duel?" asked Harry doubtfully, although the disbelief he might have once felt had been tempered by weeks of doing tasks he would have previously considered to be impossible without sight.

"Every wizard ought to learn techniques for dueling under poor lighting conditions, as one never knows what will happen during a real fight. Advanced Auror training includes practice fighting under blindfolds," explained Lupin. "Blind wizards especially need good dueling skills, both for their own safety as they can be seen as more vulnerable and for the safety of others should they need to fight alongside allies."

Harry supposed this made sense; he just never had considered it before.

"We don't have time to learn dueling today," said Lupin. "But we can begin on the Patronus."

He showed Harry the wand movement, taking Harry's hand in his own and repeatedly demonstrating the motion until Harry could duplicate it on his own. He explained the necessity of clearing one's mind and finding the necessary happy memory, then he taught the spell, "Expecto Patronum."

After Harry felt he understood the spell, Lupin stood by the Boggart's wardrobe.

"Ready, Harry?" he asked. Harry broke into a cold sweat. The picture Lupin had painted for him of a hooded, faceless figure had been so much more frightening than what he'd imagined the dementor to be that he rather dreaded facing one, even a false one.

When Lupin opened the door, Harry saw a darkness spilling from the wardrobe. The room grew suddenly icy cold and Harry heard the screaming. Green sparks danced in front of his eyes. He felt his vision fading to blackness and now, even worse, he could see in his imagination the menacing hooded figure gliding toward him.

With a great effort of will, he lifted his wand. "Expecto Patronum!" he yelled. Nothing happened and Harry felt the falling, dizzying sensation of losing consciousness.

The next thing he knew, he was laying on the floor. The room, once again warm, was silent except for Lupin standing over him, shaking his shoulder and calling to him, "Harry, Harry, are you all right?"

Harry blinked. "Yeah, I think so," he said.

"You fainted," said Lupin wryly.

"Why did I faint?" asked Harry in frustration as he got shakily to his feet. "Why didn't my Patronus work?"

"It takes time, Harry," soothed Lupin. "For one thing, you need to concentrate on a good thought. For another, you need to work on your aim."

"Oh," said Harry, crestfallen. "Did I aim it in the wrong place?"

"Yes," said Lupin with a smile in his voice and Harry appreciated his honesty.

"I can't see the dementor at all, only a darkness," said Harry. "It doesn't take long before everything goes black."

"I think before we do more work on the Patronus, we need to work on recognizing dementors and work on aiming spells toward invisible objects," said Lupin thoughtfully. "You catch the beeping Snitch by sound, correct?"

Harry frowned in thought. "I find it by the beep, yeah," he said. "But once I get within a few feet, I can see it shimmer and I grab that."

"Still that location of an object by sound is a good start," said Lupin. "Do you happen to have the Snitch with you?"

As a matter of fact, Harry did have it in his pocket. He'd taken to carrying it around with him as a good luck talisman and he liked to reach into his pocket and touch it, thinking of the good times he'd had playing quidditch. So he pulled it out and handed it to Lupin.

Lupin tapped it with his wand, bringing the frantically fluttering ball to life. He tossed it gently into the room where it danced toward the ceiling, hiding behind one of the roof bosses.

"Now," he said with an impish tone in his voice that reminded Harry of Fred and George. "Atrus Totallus!" The room went completely black.

Harry let out a shout of surprise. He hadn't expected it and he realized how much he'd feared that very thing, complete blackness, as his heart climbed into his throat.

"There," said Lupin roguishly out of the blackness. "This will be good practice for me, too. Try to hit the Snitch using the "Immobulus" spell. The first one of us to successfully close it down will be the winner."

Harry laughed nervously, both at the idea of the impromptu competition and at Lupin's complete unconcern for the disorienting darkness that surrounded them.

Harry, at Lupin's suggestion, tried first. "Immobulus!" he called, pointing his wand at the beeping that came from the ceiling. In the echoing room, he heard the buzz of wings as the Snitch ducked away from his spell.

"You're not even trying!" goaded Lupin, spinning on his heel as the Snitch swung past his head. He stood still for a moment and Harry could almost feel his sudden, intense prickle of concentration.

"Immobulus!" he commanded. Instantly the Snitch went silent and Harry heard a soft ping as it fell to the stone floor and rolled into a corner.

"Wow!" cried Harry enthusiastically. "You did that on the first try!"

"Lux," said Lupin to the room, returning the light which made Harry flinch and gasp with pain.

"I had no idea you could cast a spell so accurately using only sound," continued Harry in surprise, still squinting against the light in the room.

"Which is why you failed to do so," returned Lupin with a laugh. "Accio Snitch," he said and handed Harry the now-quiet ball. Harry took it, turning it thoughtfully in his hand, rubbing his thumb against its smooth metal surface.

"I guess I have a lot to learn," he said ruefully. "Err, thanks, Professor."

"My pleasure, Harry," said Lupin with a quiet smile in his voice.


	27. Chapter 27

On the first Saturday in February, Gryffindor faced Ravenclaw on the Quidditch pitch. As was his habit in the morning Harry stood looking out the window, waiting for Ron to come and tell him what the weather was doing. This time he could see even less than usual and he rubbed his eyes, wondering how long it would be until he was totally blind.

"Blimey!" said Ron, joining him at the window. "It's as thick as pea soup out there!"

Harry's shout of relieved laughter startled Ron who asked him why in the world he thought fog was funny.

"It's just that…" Harry said through his hiccups of laughter. "…I thought I was losing my eyesight."

"Err, I thought you already had that covered, mate," said Ron, shaking his head as he turned away to get dressed.

Later, Harry walked down to the pitch with the team, his new Firebolt under his arm. Of course his teammates had been wild about his new broom and everyone wanted to know who had given it to him, but he'd declined to tell anyone, just saying it was "an old friend of my parents."

As they walked across the grounds, Harry's teammates commented over and over about the fog and how they could see only a few feet in front of them. Harry grinned to himself, for, although the world looked pretty much the same to him as it always did, he was glad the sun did not shine and he thought it would make for an interesting game to have all the players nearly as visually impaired as he was. The difference, he noticed, was in the muffled quality of the sound in the air. He hoped he would still be able to hear the Snitch.

They got to the Gryffindor Team Room where Oliver Wood, the captain, spent a few minutes getting the team focused on the upcoming match.

"If we're clever, we can make the fog work to our advantage," he told his team. "We already use many of the techniques of a blind quidditch team for Harry. We'll use them for each other as well today."

They agreed on short, clipped words of verbal communication among the chasers while Fred and George worked out a system with Wood where they would warn him in advance of the Ravenclaw chasers coming his way.

"How about you, Harry?" asked Wood. "Business as usual, eh?"

Harry grinned. "Almost. It is going to be harder to hear the beep."

"I'm afraid we can't help you, mate," said George. "Rules about alerting the Seeker and all that."

"Yeah," agreed Harry. "It's okay. I'll do it, just keep those Bludgers away from me."

"Right," said George.

They walked onto the pitch but since only the first few rows of spectators could see the team through the thick fog, the applause grew slowly, rising in waves up the stands. Harry wondered why the match hadn't been called off, but he supposed there was some ancient Hogwarts tradition about going forward no matter what the weather. Still, the spectators weren't likely to get much from a game they couldn't see.

Luckily, Madame Hooch, along with the ever-intrepid Lee Jordan, had come up with a solution. She appointed four game announcers on brooms, one at each set of goal hoops and two to fly the perimeter of the pitch during the game, taking turns with one another to announce the action. From their comments, the crowd could get a fair idea of what was happening.

Madame Hooch released the Bludgers and tossed the beeping Snitch into the fog where it promptly disappeared. Then she had the team captains shake and the game began. Harry kicked off with his team but left them to soar higher than usual, listening intently to the four announcers as the match got underway.

"And the Quaffle is taken first by Gryffindor," said Lee Jordan from his own broom as he flew through the center of the pitch, his voice magically amplified. "Alicia Spinnet heads toward the Ravenclaw… Hey! Stop that! Keep those bloody Bludgers away from me!"

"That's ten points for Gryffindor," said the magical voice of Dean Thomas at the Ravenclaw goalpost and the Gryffindors in the stands cheered with delight.

"Ouch!" exclaimed Lee Jordan as the rogue Bludger continued to pester him.

"The Quaffle goes to Lucy Trevelyn of Ravenclaw," announced the other flying announcer, a boy from Ravenclaw who Harry knew only as Mitch. "She's working it toward the Gryffindor end. Oops, there goes a Bludger. Nice flying by Lucy Trevelyn."

"And Ravenclaw loses the Quaffle when a long pass goes bad," continued Lee with a grin. "Blimey! Fred, George, won't you keep these blasted things away from me? I'm not even in the bloody match! Ahh, there, that's better. Gryffindor intercepts the Quaffle. They're using a tight passing pattern to work it down the pitch. Nice flying, ladies."

Harry, circling the pitch above the action could not help but laugh. He found himself getting so distracted by the commentary that he forgot for a few moments to listen for the Snitch, but when Cho Chang brushed past on her own circuit, he remembered.

He decided to take a circle once lower down to listen for the Snitch. Dropping to the level of the stands, he flew along the perimeter. He wasn't used to other players being unable to see him coming and he almost collided with someone, but the encounter went by too quickly for him to tell who it was.

"Gryffindor scores again!" exulted Dean Thomas, hovering at the Ravenclaw hoops. Next to Harry the crowd burst into wild cheering and Harry swerved away from the noise.

For a minute the announcers were quiet, trying to pick up the thread of the game again. With a whoosh, Fred flew past Harry, calling to Wood that Lucy and Matthew, the Ravenclaw Chasers, were headed his way from the left. At that moment, whether it was sent by a Ravenclaw Beater or simply because Fred was distracted helping Wood, a Bludger appeared out of nowhere and nailed Harry right on the side of the head.

He was thrown sideways and barely managed to recover his balance.

"Harry Potter takes a direct hit from a Bludger," said Mitch smugly as Harry shook his head to clear the ringing in his ears. Again, he flew higher to get farther away from the chaos.

"Ravenclaw scores!" announced the student from the Gryffindor goalpost and Harry shook his head again.

Harry realized he had no idea where Cho Chang, the Ravenclaw Seeker was. He knew it didn't actually matter because the best strategy was to find the Snitch himself, but he liked to have an idea where the other Seeker had been looking.

Once again, Harry was distracted by the match below him. "Angelina Johnson takes a hard hit by a Bludger," said Mitch. "That's gotta hurt, folks. Nice job, Geoff!"

Lee took up the narration. "Gryffindor calls in their backup chaser, Vicky Frobisher," he cried. "She's a fantastic flyer and I have to say, she's pretty cute too, ouch!" Professor McGonagall apparently had sent a quick reminder from her wand-tip to stay on topic.

"Watch those Ravenclaws work the Quaffle," shouted Mitch in turn. "They aren't letting this fog stop them. Here comes a Bludger at one, grab it, Geoff! Oh here, I got it."

"You can't help your team's beaters, Mitch," shouted Lee Jordan furiously.

"I wasn't helping him, it came at me and I hit it," retorted Mitch, but Madame Hooch's whistle intervened.

Her interference backfired, for once they landed on the field Mitch dove at Lee and the two announcers began grappling with one another, followed shortly by the beaters. Soon fists were flying from the better part of both teams while in the stands, the students buzzed with bewilderment, the closest ones cheering on the fight and calling backward to their friends to tell them what was happening. Madame Hooch plowed into the fisticuffs, her whistle shrieking like mad.

"Ten minutes in the Team Room, both teams," she said with determination.

By the time he'd flown down from his high circle, Madame Hooch had the fight fairly stopped. Harry had never heard of an involuntary time-out called like that, but he landed and followed his team into their room, everyone breathing hard. Harry took off his gloves, setting them on a table, and flung himself into a chair. The game seemed to him like a farce and he felt his frustration level climbing as Wood stood before the team and gave the usual speech about focus and team communication.

At the end of ten minutes, the team stood ready to file out onto the pitch. Harry grabbed for his gloves, but only found one on the table. Irritated, he bent to the floor looking for the other and yelled with surprise as something soft brushed his hand.

"What is it, Harry?" asked Fred, coming over toward him. "Blimey! It's Crookshanks! What is he doing out here?"

Harry froze. What indeed was Hermione's cat doing out here at the quidditch pitch?

Harry snatched up his glove from the floor where it had fallen and followed his team onto the pitch again, but his mind was no longer on the match. He hardly heard Madame Hooch's instructions to the two teams and he kicked off halfheartedly into the still-foggy air.

"And they're off," shouted Lee Jordan with renewed vigor.

Suddenly Harry knew why Crookshanks was there and he knew what he had to do. Sending his broom into a dive, he headed for the team room. He landed with a run on the slippery damp grass. Because of the fog, almost no one saw him leave the match and the announcers went blithely on with their commentary, unaware that they were short one player.

When he entered the Team Room, a misplaced chair sent Harry sprawling and he swore under his breath. But since he was on the floor anyway, he took the opportunity to slither toward the shadowy corner where Crookshanks had been headed. Under the table where his glove had fallen, Harry reached back with his fingers to explore the plaster on the wall and found a hole the size of his palm. A cat-sized hole. A rat-sized hole. But to which room did it lead?

Harry grabbed his cane off the table and unfolded it as he went. Slipping around the back, he entered the Ravenclaw Team room. Remembering the chair in the Gryffindor room, he entered slowly, softly, lest he scare the animals away. Listening intently, he switched his cane to his left hand, holding his wand ready in his right.

A roar from the crowd momentarily distracted his attention, but he soon forgot the game outside. A scrabbling sound near the back wall escalated into a pounce and a squeak. He looked for the rat but could see only the blurred shadow of a table. Harry closed his eyes, listening harder than he had ever listened, concentrating harder even than Lupin had when he'd demonstrated the technique to Harry. Every ounce of his being focused on the sound of claws on floor, of squeaks and of panting breaths. He pointed his wand.

"Petrificus Totalis!" he shouted and the room went silent.

"Nice shot, Harry," said a voice behind him and Harry whirled around. Someone stood in the glowing outline of the doorway.

Professor Lupin sprang forward into the room to stand beside Harry, looking at the corner of the floor.

"How did you know I was in here?" asked Harry.

"I saw you leave the pitch," explained Lupin. "You'd never leave a quidditch game without a pretty good reason, so I followed you."

Harry turned back to the quiet corner. "I think I got them," he said, making his way past haphazard chairs and assorted team gear. He first touched long, soft fur. "Hermione's cat, Crookshanks," he explained to Lupin.

"And is this Scabbers?" asked Lupin.

Harry next felt the rat, still held by the tail in the cat's mouth while all four feet stuck stiff and straight as if bound together. It was about the same size as the rat he'd felt in Hagrid's hut. He touched the feet. One front paw had a missing, mangled toe. "It has to be him!" Harry said with glee.

Suddenly the crowd outside erupted into cheers and stomping. Shouts of "Ravenclaw, Ravenclaw! Go Ravenclaw," followed closely by "Cho Chang is the best Seeker!" told Harry what had just happened.

"You'd better get back out there," said Lupin. "I'll take them back up to my office. Come when you can."

Reluctantly, Harry left the room. It hit him what he'd done. He'd left a match. Let his team down. And he had no explanation for them. It was just too complicated.

Luckily for Harry, he still had an ally in the thick fog. In the Gryffindor room, he traded his cane for his broom and headed back out onto the pitch, just in time to meet the rest of his defeated team.

"Bad luck all around, eh, Harry?" said Wood, apparently assuming Harry had landed near the edge of the pitch and had come to find his team. Not knowing what to say, he did not answer, but found it unnecessary when Fred began bemoaning their loss, but not, to Harry's relief, placing any blame.

The team did not hang around the pitch to celebrate so Harry found himself able to get away sooner than he had anticipated. He didn't want to take time to hunt for Ron but as he was heading up to the castle, his friend caught up with him.

"Hold up, mate," he said breathlessly. "Where are you going?"

"Lupin has Scabbers," said Harry shortly. "I'm going up there to see if he has discovered whether Scabbers is Peter Pettigrew."

"In that case," said Ron with determination, "I'm coming with you."


	28. Chapter 28

Hermione joined Harry and Ron in the entrance hall, asking why they had left the quidditch pitch so soon. When she found out what they were doing, she hurried to join them in rushing up the stairs to the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom.

Once there, they found the door to Professor Lupin's office closed and locked. At Harry's knock, however, Lupin opened the door and ushered them quickly inside before refastening the door. Light that filtered feebly through the windows shone on Lupin's dusty desk where the two animals lay, still under the full body-bind that Harry had used on them down in the Ravenclaw room. The room seemed too quiet, like a dampening spell had been cast upon it. Piles of books and other odd, assorted items cluttered the room and in one corner, Harry knew, a tank containing a Grindylow sat. He walked carefully a few steps into the room and stopped, not wanting to trip on the half-seen clutter that lined the walls and spilled farther out onto the floor.

Hermione, following Ron into the room, rushed forward as she saw her cat lying inert on the desk.

"Crookshanks!" she cried in dismay. "What have you done to him?"

"Relax, Hermione," said Harry. "He's fine."

"He did catch Scabbers," said Ron smugly, but he didn't sound angry, merely rubbing in the fact that he had been right all along.

"Can we unbind him?" asked Hermione, ignoring Ron.

"The same curse caught both of them, so we can't unbind the cat until we're ready for Scabbers to be loosed as well," said Lupin somewhat absently as he circled the desk, eyeing the two animals. "I would like to wait for Sirius, though," he concluded with a sigh.

"How long will the full body-bind curse last?" asked Ron.

"That's the thing," said Lupin. "We don't want to risk losing the rat again. I guess it's time to find out the truth." He drew himself up and pointed his wand at the two animals. "Homo Wizardium," he chanted and a penetrating light emerged from his wand. Harry gasped and clamped his eyes shut.

He heard a whooshing sound and a shout of surprise from not only Ron and Hermione but also Professor Lupin. Harry opened his eyes and looked up. On Lupin's desk where the animals had been stood not one but two blurred figures. One stood tall and regal, the other small and fat, who immediately began looking around for a means of escape.

Before he could say anything, Hermione said quizzically, "Crookshanks?"

"Hermione," said a rich voice, coming from the taller figure on the desk. He sounded strong and kind with a trace of accent in his musical speech. "My name is actually Feliss Eliot, and I work as an undercover Auror in the Special Forces Unit."

"But you're an animagus too?" she asked in disbelief, as if doubting the evidence of her senses.

"I am," he replied. "I am sorry to deceive you, but I needed to get close to the rat. You make a very fine pet-owner, by the way," he said with a deep, melodic chuckle.

"You were after Scabbers," said Ron accusingly.

"For some time the Aurors have suspected that something was amiss," said Eliot solemnly. "But with no proof all we could do was wait and watch and try to get close to him without anyone suspecting. A big break for me came when Hermione, here, chose me as a pet."

"You seemed like a smart cat," she said, her voice almost a squeak.

Feliss Eliot chuckled again. "Of course I had not intended to reveal myself in such an unexpected manner."

All this time, the other figure had clambered down off the desk and had been cautiously sliding himself toward the edge of the room. Now, as he neared the door Eliot leapt lightly off the desk and both he and Lupin rushed to grab Pettigrew's arms and pin him between them.

"It's been much too long that I've hunted you," said Eliot through clenched teeth. "Peter Pettigrew."

"Scabbers," sighed Ron, shaking his head.

"Let me go!" shouted the small man in disgust.

"You were the Potters' Secret-Keeper, weren't you?" Lupin's sentence was more of a statement than a question, his voice filled with loathing.

Harry stood rooted to the spot, shaking from head to foot as he looked at the man who had killed his parents. Slowly, almost involuntarily, he raised his wand, pointing it at Pettigrew. The man started, as if seeing Harry for the first time.

"Harry, don't," said Lupin softly.

Harry stood, his wand trembling, still pointing at Pettigrew. He took a step toward the small man, and then another until his wand-tip nearly touched the man's chest. All the while he looked steadily at the face he could not see.

"Harry, no!" shouted Hermione shrilly.

Harry stood for a long moment, his arm extended, his wand pointing, his chest heaving in anger. Through his mind flashed a green light, a woman screaming, a baby, himself, crying. He saw in his mind's eye a small, cringing man, a rat-like man whispering out secrets that did not belong to him, secrets sniveled into the ear of a murderer. Harry's lips tightened.

"Harry," began Lupin again, but Harry had already drawn a quick breath and started to speak.

"Incarcerous," he said and a rope snaked from his wand to bind Pettigrew's arms to his sides and curled around the man's legs, holding him fast.

Lupin let out a long, slow sigh.

Harry sighed, too, and dropped his wand, turning tiredly away from the man he loathed. The tension in the room seemed to dissipate.

"Bloody hell," said Ron.

"We need to find Dumbledore," Eliot said to Lupin.

"I'll go get him," volunteered Harry, suddenly needing urgently to not be in the same room as Pettigrew.

"I'll come with you, mate," began Ron, but Lupin gestured in the negative; at the same time, putting a firm hand on Harry's shoulder in silent understanding. As he often did when someone touched him without warning, Harry jumped a little, but he nodded at Lupin, knowing what he meant to say.

Harry had to fumble for the door handle as if the events of the past hour had completely erased everything he'd learned about how to navigate or use his cane properly. Or maybe he was just too distracted. Lupin unlocked it briefly for him and heard the lock click back into place again once he left the room and felt the prickle of magical spells Lupin cast into place to prevent his prisoner from escaping now that he was finally caught.

Harry walked through the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom in a daze. What did this mean for Sirius? Could the truth finally come out? Would Harry have a godfather at last? His cane found a desk and he skirted it automatically, still wrapped in thought. Pettigrew would go to trial now, of course. But how would the Wizengamot rule now after so many years? How could they make up to Sirius all the years that had been taken from him in the insanity of Azkaban?

In the hallway, Harry stopped, eyes closed, leaning his head back against the cool stone wall of the castle. Maybe he wouldn't have to go back to the Dursleys.

The thought of living somewhere with Sirius overtook him and he let his mind play out the fantasy. He saw himself going down to breakfast but instead of surly Uncle Vernon and petulant Dudley, there would be the gentle voice of his godfather, laced with a tenderness Harry had never heard before in a voice, something that gave Harry a warm feeling all over, as if he were a teacup and someone had filled him full to the brim of Darjeeling and honey.

Something whooshed by with a cackling laugh and Harry opened his eyes again to see the uncertain outline of Peeves, the poltergeist, vanishing down the corridor. Harry grinned and followed him since that was the way he needed to go anyway.

Harry thought about how his life had changed over the past six months. He shuddered as he remembered how many times he'd gotten lost on the way to Dumbledore's office. Today he had no intention of getting lost. Every turn in the corridors was familiar to him now in a new way. Now he even noticed air currents, or small landmarks he never would have realized existed last year.

In no time at all he stood facing the stone Gargoyle.

"Jaw Busters," Harry told it and it jumped aside so he could ascend the stone staircase.

At Harry's knock, Dumbledore said pleasantly, "Come in, the door is open."

Harry entered and closed the door, standing before it.

"Harry!" said Dumbledore in surprise. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

Harry suddenly realized he had no idea what to tell the Headmaster. Several stories flew in and out of his head, then he decided to wait and let Professor Lupin explain.

"Sir, Professor Lupin requests that you come to his office right away," said Harry.

"Then I shall come," said Dumbledore without hesitation. He rose and joined Harry at the door.

Harry turned and led the way down the stairs, past the gargoyle and down the hallway, with Dumbledore striding beside him.

"You seem much more confident than you were a few months ago," remarked Professor Dumbledore.

Harry beamed. "Yes," he agreed. "Professor Lupin is a good teacher."

"He is indeed," said Dumbledore.

Harry didn't know what else to say, so he walked in silence the rest of the way to the Defense classroom.

After knocking, Harry and Dumbledore waited for a few minutes while the protective enchantments were lifted and the door unlocked. Then they entered the musty office.

"Peter Pettigrew," said Dumbledore without surprise. "And Feliss! I must say, Mr. Potter, you have had a busy morning."

"You know Feliss Eliot?" asked Hermione in surprise.

"Oh yes," laughed Eliot. "Indeed he does." Beyond this, however, he declined to explain.

"Peter Pettigrew," said Dumbledore solemnly, "You are charged with murdering thirteen muggles as well as betraying the Potters to Lord Voldemort."

"I didn't do it," squeaked Pettigrew.

"Nevertheless," answered Dumbledore, "you shall stand before the Wizengamot. It is a shame," he continued in a somewhat odd tone, "that Sirius Black is not available at the present. If he were to appear also before the Wizengamot he might possibly be cleared of the charges against him."

Harry couldn't see the Headmaster's face. Was Dumbledore looking at him?

"Eliot, if you and Lupin would please assist me in escorting our guest to the Ministry, I would be much obliged," said Dumbledore.

"A pleasure," replied the big man and soon Harry, Ron and Hermione were left alone in the office.

They stood silently for a few long moments, each tangled in thought.

"I still can't believe Scabbers…" began Ron.

"I still can't believe Crookshanks!" said Hermione.

Harry said nothing. Dumbledore's words still echoed over and over in his mind. Possibly be cleared of the charges against him. Possibly be cleared.

Professor Lupin had said Sirius was in the Forbidden Forest looking for Pettigrew. Why, oh why had he gone there? Why hadn't he stayed in his room? Now he did not know that Pettigrew was captured, that in a matter of days he could be a free man, that no longer would he need to run, to hide, that no longer would his tired face stare out of wanted posters in Diagon Alley. No longer would gossiping bartenders bandy his name around with poisonous venom in their voices.

And then? Then maybe Harry would have a family. Harry hardly dared even to hope.

"Well, I think I'll go to the Library," said Hermione at last.

"I suppose I'll come too," said Ron with the tones of a martyr. "You coming, mate?"

"No," said Harry.

"No?" asked Ron in surprise. "Where are you going then?"

Until that moment, Harry hadn't made up his mind. But as Ron asked, he suddenly knew exactly what he was going to do although he did not voice his thought aloud to his friends. "I'm going to the Forbidden Forest," he said to himself. "I'm going to look for Sirius."


	29. Chapter 29

Because Harry had no intention of letting his friends insist on coming with him to look for Sirius, he figured he had to lay low until he could find a time to slip away. He went with them to the Library, then followed them toward the Great Hall at dinner time, all the while his mind spinning with half-formed plans. He'd need his Invisibility Cloak, for one thing.

A nasty voice broke into his thoughts at that moment. "Potter," it said, infused with such loathing that Harry almost cringed.

"Draco Malfoy," he said with a sigh, turning to face him. Draco stood just inside the doorway of the Great Hall, flanked as usual by Crabbe and Goyle, their massive shapes easy for Harry to see. Much as Harry disliked Draco, his interruption of Harry's plans irritated Harry more than whatever idiotic remark Draco had to say.

"Potter," Draco said again. "You'd better watch your back. Just a little friendly warning." His voice crawled with venom.

Harry rolled his eyes. "Glad to see you've finally brushed your teeth, Malfoy," he said and Ron snickered.

As they walked away Hermione nudged Harry. "What do you think he's going to do?" she asked worriedly.

"Nothing," said Harry carelessly. "Malfoy's full of hot air, that's all."

"He really sounded like he meant it this time," said Hermione, unconvinced, but Harry wasn't paying attention.

All through dinner, Harry forced himself to listen to their chatter, to answer their questions, even to discuss in whispers what they had seen in Lupin's office. According to Hermione, Professor Dumbledore still wasn't back in his seat at the Head Table, which must mean he was busy doing duty with the Wizengamot. Harry fidgeted. He was running low on time.

After dinner in the common room, Harry tried to concentrate on reading, but when his fingers traced the same line of Braille three times, he gave up.

"I'm going up to bed," he said at last. "Long day and all that."

Now that he thought about it, it had been a very long day. Only that morning he had played quidditch against Ravenclaw and had lost the game by leaving in the fog.

Alone in his dorm, Harry put on his coat and muffler, then flung the Invisibility Cloak around his shoulders. As stealthily as he could, he descended the stairs, keeping his cane close under his Cloak. Carefully, he made his way through the common room and silently opened the portrait hole.

Once out in the hallway, he let out the breath he was holding and turned toward the staircase. As he did so, he was frozen in his tracks by a voice.

"Harry," came the whisper.

Someone had seen him. Who was it? Harry held perfectly still in case the person was only guessing. Since he'd heard only a single whispered word he had no idea who it was and he waited.

"Harry, it's Hermione. I'm coming."

Harry closed his eyes and a sigh of frustration escaped him. The very thing he wanted to avoid.

"No," he said through gritted teeth, "no, you're not. How did you know I was going anyway?"

"Oh please," said Hermione in disgust. "You've been completely distracted all evening. Anyone with half a brain would know you're going after Sirius. So I'm going to come too."

"No," Harry repeated. "Not this time, Hermione."

"Dumbledore wants me to come," she said.

"How do you know?" he asked, turning toward her and pushing back the hood of the Cloak.

"This was on my bed," she said simply, coming toward him and feeling for his hand under the Cloak. She found it and guided his fingers onto the object that she held in front of her. To his astonishment, Harry found himself grasping the heavy hilt of a long, silver sword.

"The Sword of Gryffindor?" he asked incredulously.

Hermione said nothing.

Pushing the Cloak back, Harry held it up, glinting in the torchlight, its long blade perfectly balanced. The memory of the Basilisk from last year rose in his mind and for a moment he was there again, in the Chamber of Secrets, talking to Tom Riddle, thrusting the Sword into the giant snake. He blinked and shook his head, letting the brilliantly colored fear settle back again into his memory and looking at the grayed blur that was Hermione.

"Well, come on then," was all he said.

Quietly, they walked along the corridors and down the stairs toward the great double front doors. Harry listened and Hermione watched but they encountered no one, not even Peeves or Filch, the hoary caretaker. Like shadows, they slipped out of the doors into the night.

As they reached the edge of the forest, Hermione whispered, "How are you going to find him?"

"No idea," Harry whispered back.

Together they entered the Forbidden Forest. Fog still clung in places here and there and the last scraps of twilight hardly reached into the tangle of dark foreboding that lay under the thick trees. As they pushed deeper, eerie noises seemed to come out of the dim shadows, calls from who knew what nocturnal animals not wishing to be disturbed.

They had entered walking along a path, one of Hagrid's tracks, probably, and Harry found it fairly easy to follow with his feet. The trouble, he found, were the stiff fingers of overhanging branches that unexpectedly slapped him in the face from time to time. He took off the Invisibility Cloak and wadded it into his pocket lest it get a rip in it from one of the clawing branches.

Hermione walked silently behind him, watching, he was sure, from side to side, peering into the deep mass of trees that surrounded them. To Harry's gratitude, she did not suggest lighting her wand but walked on behind him in the half-light.

Harry heard soft hoofbeats and the crunch of underbrush. A deer was coming. He stopped and held his breath, not wanting to frighten it. Ahead of them, a soft, silver light glowed and Hermione clutched Harry's arm.

"It's a unicorn," she whispered softly in his ear.

They both stood watching the glowing, graceful creature until it moved off deeper into the wood.

Walking on again, they noticed that the sky overhead past the branches of trees grew inky and the gloom within the Forest deepened. Harry still had no idea where he was going or how he planned to set about finding Sirius. He supposed Sirius had just as little idea how to go about finding Scabbers in the thick wood.

All at once Hermione cried out in pain, crumpling to the ground behind Harry. He whirled and knelt beside her.

"Hermione! What happened?" he asked anxiously.

Her voice taut with pain, she answered, "I just stepped wrong on a root. I think I twisted my ankle."

Harry closed his eyes in relief. "Can you keep walking?" he asked.

Hermione tried to stand but fell back with a little cry of pain. "It's pretty bad," she said grimly.

"I'll have to go back. Get Hagrid or someone," Harry said.

"No, keep looking. I'll wait for you here and then we can get help," insisted Hermione with just the slightest tremble in her voice.

Harry glanced around. The trees stood like dark sentinels against the soft sky. No sound could be heard save the faint dripping of condensed fog from their branches.

"Okay," he said finally, standing to his feet again.

He'd hardly gone a dozen paces when he heard Hermione give a startled scream behind him.

"Harry!" she said in a loud whisper. "Harry, something's coming."

Harry whirled, peering into the gloom. Nothing. Then he heard the soft growling, almost a purr.

He held the sword ready in his right hand, dropping his cane on the path to draw his wand with his left. Could it be Sirius? Why then would he growl so menacingly?

"Wh-what is it?" asked Hermione.

"I don't know, what does it look like?" asked Harry, looking as hard as he could into the misty dark.

"A black wolf," said Hermione. "Do you think it could be a grim? Does it mean we're going to die?"

"Sirius is a big, black dog," whispered Harry, "But he would come talk to us. Could it be a werewolf?"

"It's not even close to the full moon," said Hermione slowly.

The growling drew nearer. Harry gripped the handle of the Sword of Gryffindor so tightly his fingers tingled and his knuckles grew white. He still could see nothing but blackness and facing an unknown something which he couldn't see made the hair on the back of his neck prickle.

Harry took a step closer to it. On the path between them, Hermione shifted slightly.

All at once they both heard something, underbrush off to their left crunching. For a moment Harry and Hermione both looked toward the noise.

"It's gone!" said Hermione suddenly. "I looked back and the wolf was gone. No, wait, here it comes." Her voice rose with renewed fear.

The crunching grew louder and out onto the path burst a black shadow, right next to Hermione. Harry yelled and leapt toward it, swinging the great silver Sword.

The dark shape rose onto its hind feet and a gentle voice said, "Whoa, Harry, just a minute there."

Harry skidded to a halt, lowering both the sword and his wand with a breath of relief.

"Sirius!" he said quickly. "You scared us!"

"Sorry," he said. "I heard a scream and I thought you were in danger."

"We were," said Hermione. "You chased it off."

"Hello," said Black kindly, "And who might you be?"

"This is my friend, Hermione Granger," said Harry and Black bowed in courtly fashion to shake the still-seated Hermione's hand.

"What was stalking you?" asked Black.

"It looked like a big black wolf," said Hermione.

Black chuckled, "No wonder you charged me, Harry. I forgive you now for that."

Harry grinned ruefully. "Sorry about that."

"Think nothing of it," said Black. "What are you two doing wandering in the Forbidden Forest this late at night, anyway?"

"Well, we came looking for you, but Hermione wrenched her ankle," began Harry, but Black interrupted him.

"For me?" he said in a startled voice. "Why?"

"Oh! I almost forgot," said Harry. "We caught Peter Pettigrew."

"You caught…" said Black, startled. "But how? Where?"

Harry and Hermione related the day's events, spilling the story haphazardly in their excitement, interrupting one another as they told of the quidditch game, of the cat that had distracted Harry and of the discovery in the Ravenclaw Team Room.

"But how did you manage to capture him?" asked Black.

"I cast a full body-bind spell," explained Harry, "and then Lupin came in…"

"You cast a full body-bind spell by yourself? Could you see him?" asked Black in confusion.

"No," said Harry. "You see Professor Lupin and I have been practicing…"

"Wow, I'm very impressed that you hit Pettigrew with that spell from across the room without sight," said Sirius and Harry smiled sheepishly.

"I-I-I guess you learn how to do things a little differently when you have to," he said, then proceeded to tell Black about Lupin and meeting Feliss Eliot, punctuated by remarks from Hermione.

"That must have been quite a shock," said Black to Hermione with a smile in his voice.

"Yes, it was," she agreed.

"But they have taken Pettigrew to trial at the Ministry and you're supposed to go there tomorrow too," finished Harry in a rush.

"A trial at the Ministry," said Black thoughtfully.

"Do you think they will clear your name?" asked Hermione, somewhat timidly.

"Well, that all depends," said Black wearily. "There were some who did not mind seeing me go to Azkaban."

"What?" shouted Harry. "But you're innocent. The truth can come out now."

"Harry," said Black quietly, "You'll find that some have written their own truth through the years that facts cannot change. I think I'll just stay here rather than going to the Ministry. But we'll hope for the best, all right?"

Harry shook his head in confusion. He didn't understand what Black meant. Everything would be all right now, wouldn't it? Why wouldn't Sirius come out of hiding?

Black stooped and picked up Hermione, straightening himself with a grunt.

"I'm not the man I was twelve years ago," he said shortly. "But I guess I can get you back to the edge of the Forest."

He set off down the path. Harry retrieved his cane and followed the dark form back along the way they had come, thinking to himself how much safer he felt having Sirius with them. When the trees began to thin and the ground began to rise through the fog, Black stopped.

"You two can get help from here," he said, setting Hermione on her one good foot next to a tree for support.

"Come with us," urged Harry. "Everything will be all right now."

"Not yet," said Black resolutely. "Not until I know for sure."

With that he turned and loped back into the wood. Harry and Hermione stood watching the huge, black dog disappear into the Forbidden Forest and the chill of a foggy February night.


	30. Chapter 30

Madame Pomfrey declared Hermione's ankle badly sprained and kept her overnight in the hospital wing. Harry and Ron visited her the next day with a box of Ambrosius Flume's own fudge as a get-well gift. For Ron to part with the box of fudge showed how much his friendship with Hermione had revived since the capture and subsequent unmasking of Scabbers.

Harry had expected to hear news of the wizarding trial or of the Wizengamot but to his chagrin, he heard nothing. Even the Daily Prophet, which Hermione obligingly read for him occasionally when she could find a copy, ran no articles on the capture of Peter Pettigrew or of the trial, which Harry found ominous and strange.

Dumbledore remained conspicuously missing as well. Harry had intended to return the Sword of Gryffindor to him, but since he was not there, Harry hid it under his mattress in the dorm.

Classes seemed to drag. Without the anticipation of the holidays, Harry found that his days seemed unbearably long. He tried to concentrate on his classwork and his extra lessons in Braille from Professor Lupin, but as day after day crawled by with no word from Sirius, and no word about the trial, he thought he might go mad from the tension.

One sunny Saturday in March when most of the students, including Ron and Hermione, were in Hogsmeade, Harry found himself disconsolately pacing the long hallway, wishing he had some news. He had been trying to remember the dot-5 short forms in his Braille book but had given up in disgust. Now he strode back and forth, up and down the long hall, wishing he'd heard something, anything.

"Harry?" Professor Lupin startled him out of his reverie.

"Professor, have you heard anything at all?" asked Harry in despair.

"Not a thing, Harry. But these things take time," soothed Lupin. "Why don't you come down to my classroom and we'll have another dueling and Patronus lesson to get your mind off things, shall we?"

"All right," agreed Harry unenthusiastically.

As they walked, Lupin asked, "Has your eyesight gotten worse over the past few months, do you think?"

Harry considered. Some days he thought he could see as well as he had last fall, but on other days he felt as though he could hardly see at all and that he had to fumble his way through everything. "It's hard to tell," he said.

"I want you to go see Madame Pomfrey about it when we're done with our lesson," he said and held up a hand against Harry's protests. "I know she may not be able to do anything, but it can't hurt."

Reluctantly, Harry agreed. He had avoided going to the hospital wing because if he did not talk to Madame Pomfrey, he could at least hold out hope that any changes he noticed were solely in his imagination. But he supposed Lupin was right. He sighed.

They reached the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom. By now Harry wasn't even surprised when Lupin plunged the room immediately into darkness. Harry woke the Snitch and tossed it into the air. By this time he had learned to take his time and listen; he often beat Professor Lupin by immobilizing the Snitch first.

"Today," said Lupin with that note of mischief in his voice that made Harry roll his eyes in nervous anticipation, "you're going to have to catch the Snitch quickly. You have gotten quite proficient at concentrating hard enough to immobilize it when you have plenty of time. But in a duel or a battle you need split-second accuracy. For that reason we're going to compete simultaneously."

Harry gulped. Professor Lupin had just taken the game up another notch. Although he had gone from thinking that magic without sight was impossible to realizing that once he had practiced the techniques Lupin taught him he could aim quite accurately, Harry still thought of wand magic as a visual technique. You saw what you wanted to hit and you pointed your wand at it and cast the spell to hit it. Simple as that.

The trouble was that every day he could see less.

He sighed again and took his wand out. Lupin counted off and they both cast the Immobulus spell at the Snitch. As if it taunted them, it skittered across the ceiling, beeping merrily.

Harry turned a slow circle in the dark, listening, then he lowered his wand. "Why?" he asked Lupin suddenly. "Why teach me to duel?"

"What do you mean?" asked Lupin in surprise. "Dueling is something every wizard needs to know."

"But I'll never be able to win a real fight," said Harry darkly.

"Harry, what are you talking about? I've never seen you so hopeless," said Lupin in consternation. "Of course you can win a real fight."

"What if Voldemort does come back someday? What if I have to face him?" asked Harry.

"That's why we're doing these lessons. It's why we're training you. So you'll be ready when or if the time comes," explained Lupin.

"But my parents could see. They were fully trained and he killed them," said Harry angrily.

"Harry, they were caught unawares. They thought they were safe," said Lupin slowly.

"I don't think I can do this any more," said Harry, fighting back tears. "It's too hard."

"What's the alternative?" came Lupin's quiet voice out of the darkness.

Harry stood still. The image of himself sitting on his bed in the smallest bedroom at Privet Drive rose before him. Day after long day of sitting there on the bed doing nothing. Suddenly the darkness of the classroom seemed to close in on him and he crumpled into an awkward heap on the floor, his head on his knees and the tears he'd fought for months all came in a rush. Giant, rending sobs shook him and he was glad Lupin could not see him.

Lupin walked slowly toward Harry and set a hand on Harry's shoulder.

"It's okay to cry," he said simply. Then Harry heard his footsteps retreating into his office where the door clicked shut.

As if a dam broke, Harry cried. He cried all the tears he hadn't cried when Madame Pomfrey told him there was nothing she could do for him. He cried for all the times he had bruised his shins and banged his forehead and bashed into the wall of the quidditch pitch. He cried for the parents he'd never known and for the long, dreary lost years with the Dursleys.

He had no idea how long he sat there on the floor of Lupin's classroom. His head throbbed. At last all the tears were cried out and he felt a sort of quiet serenity take hold of him. He sat there staring into the dark, listening to the hush of a castle emptied of most of its students.

Then he stood shakily to his feet. Lupin was right, of course. There was no alternative. He'd battle blind because he had no other choice. If he was to battle, he'd have to battle blind. So he might as well learn to do it as well as he could.

The Snitch still beeped disconsolately in one corner of the ceiling. Harry took in a quick breath, planted his feet and flung his hand toward it in one swift smooth motion. "Immobulus," he said and listened with satisfaction as it dropped to the floor.

"Lux," he said to the room, automatically closing his eyes against the painful light, but at the same time welcoming its comforting presence after the cloying darkness. He found the Snitch, dropped it into his pocket and knocked on Lupin's office door.

"Come in," said Lupin and Harry pushed open the door.

"I-I-I…" Harry began, but Lupin stopped him.

"I have had those days," said Lupin simply and Harry nodded, grateful for the understanding.

"We can go on with the lesson now," said Harry after a pause.

"I don't think today is a good day to face a Boggart," said Lupin sagely. "Come in and have a cup of tea."

Harry entered the cluttered office and held his hand out for the tea cup that Lupin offered. Then he sat on the wooden chair and set the cup on the pile of books to his right.

"Only you know what you're capable of doing, Harry," said Lupin after a sip of tea. "And even you may not realize the full extent of the wizard you're destined to become."

"How can I have a future or a destiny?" asked Harry.

"Destiny does not depend upon perfection," said Lupin with an ironic note in his voice. "If it did we would all lose out."

Harry was silent, thinking about this.

"We simply have to do the best we can with what we've got," said Lupin quietly and Harry thought of the little, secret room upstairs, of Dumbledore's calm voice telling Harry how he had specialized in Ancient Runes because he "needed the practice" and of the tiny, bustling witch in the Shop of Requirement.

Harry looked up at Lupin and gave him a tight-lipped smile. He felt like a sponge that had its load of water completely wrung out of it. He wasn't sure he was strong enough or smart enough to handle what Lupin was asking him to handle. He wasn't sure anyone was.

"I guess I'll go see Madame Pomfrey now," he said finally, because he couldn't think of anything else to say.

Lupin stood, watching him go. Harry tried to keep his back straight and his head up until he was out of the office, then he let himself droop, his posture mirroring the weariness he felt inside. Slowly, with dragging feet he made his way to the hospital wing.

"Hello there," greeted Madame Pomfrey when he entered. "What can I do for you?"

"Professor Lupin said I ought to come see you again," said Harry without enthusiasm.

"About your eyes?" she asked. "Have they grown worse? Do they pain you?"

"I-I-I'm not sure," said Harry lamely. "The light still hurts and sometimes I get headaches."

"Well," she said comfortingly, "let's take a look, shall we?"

She had Harry sit in a chair while she performed several diagnostic gyrations over Harry with her wand. She then lit her wand, examining Harry's eyes closely while he grimaced in pain.

"I'm sorry, duck," she said. "I know that hurts."

She asked Harry to read the chart, which he couldn't do then read a piece of parchment in his hand, which also proved to be unsuccessful.

Once she was done, she brought two cups of tea from her office. Harry took one absently and sipped at it, thinking vaguely that her tea tasted quite a bit better than Lupin's had.

"Well," she said finally. "I can keep you overnight and perform more tests, or if you wish you may be seen by the medi-witches and wizards at St. Mungo's. That of course, is your prerogative."

Harry squinted at her and shook his head.

She continued. "From what I can tell, the damaged places in your retina are causing other parts of the retina to detach."

In spite of the tea, Harry's mouth went dry.

"What does that mean?" he asked.

"It means that you are losing more eyesight. There may be a procedure that can be performed at St. Mungo's to reverse some of the effects of this. I would highly recommend you check into this over the summer holidays."

Harry couldn't bring himself to ask the question uppermost in his mind. Would he someday be totally blind? He didn't think he wanted to know the answer.

"For now, though," she said, a bit too heartily, "keep up the good work. Professor Lupin is an excellent teacher."

Harry nodded numbly and drained his tea cup. Politely, he thanked Madame Pomfrey and left the hospital wing.

Without his brain actively telling them to do so, his feet took him back to the long hallway where he'd met Sirius. The only daylight at the far end was fading quickly, since the early spring days were still short. He knew he was probably missing dinner but he didn't feel hungry. He sat with his back against the stone wall, knees bent, with his head in his hands.


	31. Chapter 31

One morning in early April, Ron's older brother Percy, who took the Daily Prophet, dropped his paper in Ron's lap at the breakfast table one morning, after he had finished with it.

"You might be interested in that," he said, returning to his place near the end of the Gryffindor table.

Ron unfolded the paper while Hermione read over his shoulder and Harry waited impatiently beside them.

"What's it say?" he asked when they didn't say anything for a moment.

Hermione read the headline aloud: "'Peter Pettigrew Replaces Sirius Black as Ministry's Most Wanted.'"

"What?" gasped Harry in shocked dismay. "He got away?"

Hermione snatched the paper away from Ron in order to see the smaller print of the article and continued reading.

"'Peter Pettigrew, convicted of killing thirteen muggles and betraying a wizarding family to You-Know-Who has escaped from the Ministry of Magic late last night. In the best-kept secret of the decade, the trial of Pettigrew has progressed before the Wizengamot here in the Ministry Headquarters. Pettigrew, who was thought to have died twelve years ago when You-Know-Who attacked Godric's Hollow, resurfaced at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry in February. Pettigrew managed to stay underground all those years disguised as a pet rat belonging to one of the students at Hogwarts.'"

"I don't even get a mention?" interrupted Ron indignantly.

"Shh," said Hermione and resumed reading. "'He was captured during a quidditch game thanks to the valiant efforts of Remus Lupin, a teacher of questionable character…'"

"Hmph," retorted Harry.

"'…and Harry Potter, Hogwarts' famous blind quidditch player.'"

"Oh that's my new title, is it?" asked Harry in annoyed amusement.

"'If anyone knows the whereabouts of Pettigrew, he or she is highly encouraged to contact the Ministry of Magic immediately,'" finished Hermione. "And there is a picture of him at the trial, I guess. And the one of Scabbers from last summer."

"But they cut me out," said Ron morosely.

Without another word, Harry grabbed the paper from Hermione and unfolded his cane. He hurried out of the Great Hall, then out through the front doors and made directly for the Forbidden Forest at a run.

Entering the edge of the wood, he called out, "Sirius! Hello?"

This time he hadn't found the path although daylight certainly made the Forest less frightening. He pushed on through the tangle of brush. Finally, he crossed a footpath and turned to follow it deeper into the Forest, his feet feeling the soft curve in the dirt track.

It seemed like hours but was probably less than half an hour that Harry pressed forward along the path, straining with every nerve to hear a sound that would tell him he'd reached his goal. The thought crossed his mind that he might encounter something else that lived in the forest, something not so friendly and he drew his wand, holding it along with the crushed newspaper.

"Sirius?" he called again, hoping he would not attract the attention of anything less friendly. He didn't know where the giant spiders' nest was, but he would rather not stumble upon it. To his great relief, the huge black dog came bounding along the trail to meet him, standing smoothly into Sirius as he reached Harry.

"Harry?" he asked. "What is it?"

Wordlessly, Harry held the newspaper out to Black.

His godfather took it and shook it open with a crackle. Harry waited, wishing he could read Black's face, wondering what he was thinking. He did not have to wait long.

"Bunch of imbeciles," burst out Black. "I wish I'd have found him myself, I'd have…"

"But," said Harry, "now you're free. They convicted Pettigrew."

"Yes, perhaps," said Sirius thoughtfully.

"Come back with me," Harry began but he could tell Black was not listening.

"He'll be off to join Voldemort, see if he won't," said Black, more to himself than to Harry.

"But I thought Voldemort…" said Harry in confusion, thinking of the Mirror of Erised.

"Voldemort may be quiet, but he's not gone, Harry. He'll be back. He is searching even now for a way to come back, you can bet on that," said Sirius, "and that rat will be far too much help if he reaches him. I must find him."

"Let me help you then," said Harry.

Sirius seemed to shake himself. "No, not yet."

"Why not?" asked Harry in confusion.

"Well, school for one thing," said Sirius absently. "And you're not ready. You have more to learn."

Harry felt as if he'd been slapped. Not ready?

"What do you mean, not ready?" he asked angrily.

Sirius stooped and picked something up from the ground.

"Hit this," he said, and a second later a pinecone hit Harry's chest. Harry had not even seen it coming.

Harry stood very still.

"You need to learn to fight, to defend yourself," said Sirius.

"You sound like Professor Lupin," said Harry grumpily. To his surprise, Sirius laughed and stooped to pick something else up.

This time, Harry listened intently to the rustle of his sleeve, the brush of his fingers. He squinted, watching for the dark shape he knew was coming toward him. Whipping up his wand he yelled, "Infernius!" and the pinecone burst into a shower of blazing sparks.

"Very good," smiled Sirius. "Do that the first time and I'll let you help me."

With that, he was gone. Harry listened to the heavy tramp of paws on the solid, cold earth. All that was left was a photonegative imprint of sparks in Harry's eyes and a light blur where the Daily Prophet lay forgotten on the ground. Harry bent to pick it up.

[break]

As the end of April approached, the damp chill of winter finally released its hold and spring crept over the castle grounds. Harry, Ron, and Hermione enjoyed once again walking along the edge of the lake and talking on balmy Saturday afternoons. Harry finally had learned all of the different short forms for reading Braille and had begun on a "real" book, much to his delight, although he still took several minutes to push his way through even a single paragraph.

He was beginning to request more materials in Braille than Lupin had time to transcribe, so they requested information from the Shop of Requirement on transcription spells, which turned out to be rather tricky. Once Lupin would up with a page full of Japanese rather than Braille, but they both persevered and with time were both able to transcribe notes, essays and handouts from print to Braille and back again, which helped immensely with Harry's schoolwork, although Hermione still read the longer assignments aloud to him as it was still much faster than his own slow reading.

Harry, Ron, and Hermione were sitting in the Transfigurations classroom late one evening finishing a reading assignment from Potions class. Harry had been trying to listen but his mind had begun to wander, thinking of the Patronus he'd very nearly conjured in Lupin's classroom the day before. After practicing with the Snitch in the darkened classroom for some time, Lupin had restored the lights and gone over the Patronus spell and the wand movements with Harry again. When the invisible Boggart had crept out of the wardrobe, Harry had been ready and the silver, formless light he'd cast from his wand had for a moment made the fake dementor hesitate, Lupin later told Harry. Harry sat now, imagining himself casting a fully formed Patronus, driving the darkness back with its glowing presence.

Suddenly, his ear caught a familiar word and his mind snapped back to what Hermione was reading.

"'…Chameleon Tea Flowers. The potioneer must take extreme care…'"

"Wait!" Harry shouted, "go back! What was that about Chameleon Tea Flowers?"

Hermione had started when Harry yelled and she dropped the book.

"Harry," she scolded. "Weren't you listening?"

"Err, sort of," he said. "What was that bit about Chameleon Tea Flowers?"

With annoyance in her voice, Hermione resumed reading from the book she had retrieved off of the floor. "It says, 'as long as the potion is not rendered impotent by the use of Chameleon Tea Flowers.'"

"Impotent?" asked Harry in dismay. "Do Chameleon Tea Flowers do that?"

"I don't know," said Hermione with a frown in her voice. "Why does it matter?"

"Because," said Harry miserably, "I used Chameleon Tea Flowers to detect the color change in the Wolfsbane potion I made for Snape when I was in detention."

"Oh no!" said Hermione and began hurriedly thumbing through the potions book looking for more information on Chameleon Tea flowers.

"Do you think Snape will use yours?" asked Ron practically.

"I don't know," said Harry. "He talked like he planned to use it, but I bet he had a stock of the stuff already. At any rate, I don't think he's used it yet."

"Here it is," said Hermione quickly. "'Chameleon Tea Flowers use magical potency to transform a tiny seed instantly into a flower in full bloom, its form depending on the color of the original potion. Because they work so quickly, they sap the potion of its magical potency and render it in most cases ineffective.' Oh no, Harry."

Harry's heart sank into his shoes. Had he inadvertently brewed an ineffective potion?

"When is the next full moon?" he asked.

Ron pulled his star chart out of his school bag. "Tonight," he said in a low voice.

"So Professor Lupin has already taken the potion," said Hermione fearfully. "Oh, Harry, I hope it's not poisonous, too."

Harry hadn't considered this, but he found himself fervently agreeing with Hermione.

"We have to find out," he said with determination, stuffing his books into his school bag and taking out his cane. He shook it out and tapped it twice on the floor to make sure the sections were all locked into place as Hermione and Ron joined him.

They hurried to the dungeons first, Harry's heart pounding as he thought about what would happen if Professor Snape answered him in the affirmative. When they got to the dungeons, however, Snape was nowhere to be found. Even knocking and calling at his office door brought no response and Harry slammed his fist against the wall in frustration.

"We have to find out," he said finally.

"How?" asked Ron.

"I'm going up there," said Harry. "To Lupin's special room."

"Harry, no!" cried Hermione furiously. "He told you not to, besides, what if the potion doesn't work?"

"Maybe I can stop him before he takes it," said Harry. "I have to try."

"Harry, don't go," said Hermione but was interrupted.

"Don't go where?" asked a now-familiar voice in an all-too-familiar sneer. "Where is Miss Potter going?"

Harry whirled to face Draco Malfoy who had come unnoticed down the dungeon hallway, bound, no doubt for the Slytherin common room, flanked as usual by the large, quiet forms of Crabbe and Goyle.

"None of your business," said Harry from between clenched teeth.

"Of course not," said Draco silkily, "but if it's somewhere you're not supposed to go, it's my duty to let Professor Snape know, don't you think?"

"I'd speak with Snape myself if I could find him," said Harry with annoyance.

"Oh, is he gone on one of his little 'errands?'" asked Draco and Goyle chuckled. "Too bad. But I'm sure I could find someone who would be happy to know about your little plan."

"I don't have time for this, Malfoy," said Harry, pushing past the Slytherins. Draco grabbed his cane and whirled Harry around until they stood nose to nose.

"It's not a good idea to brush me off, Potter," said Draco menacingly.

Harry wrenched his cane free, his anger flaring. "Go clean your teeth, Malfoy. Your breath stinks." Then he turned and walked deliberately down the dungeon corridor toward the stairs, half expecting Draco to hit him in the back.

All that happened, to his relief, was the sound of Ron and Hermione running after Harry. As they climbed the stairs, however, they didn't see Draco and his friends silently following, slipping like shadows along behind Harry.


	32. Chapter 32

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [WARNING] This chapter contains violence.
> 
> ******

For the first time since his accident, Harry took the stairs two at a time. He had no time to notice or think about this, so great was his desire to reach Lupin and warn him about the potion. He did not even notice when Hermione whispered something to Ron and Ron broke off to head toward Gryffindor Tower. He waited with impatience at the moving staircase and started climbing before it had even snapped into place.

Once he and Hermione reached the long hallway, he listened intently, wondering if Lupin was in his secret room yet. He tried to remember where the door was, replaying in his mind that day when he found out his godfather was the escaped prisoner, Sirius Black.

"Harry, do you think…" began Hermione.

"Ssshhh." Harry stopped her, listening hard. Faintly down the hall he heard a muffled pounding, a banging, as if someone had thrown himself against a door. He made his way slowly, cautiously down the hallway toward the noise.

At that moment, Draco came up behind him.

"So who's in there, Potter?" he asked nastily.

"Malfoy," said Harry furiously, spinning around to face Draco.

"So this is where you're not supposed to be," said Draco smugly, brushing past Harry to stand before the door of the enchanted room. He tried the door.

"No!" cried Hermione, grasping for Draco's arm and pulling him back. He pushed her off. She tried again and he rounded on her, shoving her to the floor. Harry felt as if time began to move in slow motion, as if the air around him was thick and cloying, holding him back from moving, from stopping what was about to happen. He remembered dropping a crystal wine flute once when he was younger, unable to stop it falling yet watching in horrified fascination as it fell, slowly, toward the tile floor. It was like that now. The blur that was Malfoy turned back to the door away from Hermione and even as Harry lurched forward to stop him, he touched the knob with his wand.

"Alohomora," he said and the door sprang open, just as Harry managed to reach him and push him roughly away from the door, but it was too late.

With a growl of hatred a springing shadow leapt from the room and fled down the hall.

"It's a werewolf!" cried Draco in terrified surprise.

"Of course it's a werewolf, you idiot," said Hermione with unbridled disgust.

"We have to catch him," shouted Harry, tearing off down the hall after the retreating shadow.

Hermione followed him. "Harry, stop!" she yelled, leaving Draco cowering still in the shadowy, long hallway.

Harry neither heard her nor slowed. At a dead run, his cane wasn't much help and he pounded down the first staircase before he realized he'd reached it but staggered on in spite of nearly losing his footing at the bottom.

A draught of cold air on his face was the thing that finally halted his mad career through the gloomy corridors. He skidded to a stop, suddenly confused. Where had the Lupin/werewolf gone? He could not see the fleeing shadow nor could he hear anything at all. But that chill air caressing his cheek… it triggered the ghost of a memory. He walked toward it and his outstretched hand encountered a figure of stone. Of course, the One-eyed Witch. Stale air blew from her open portal to the underground tunnels.

As he stood there, considering, Hermione breathlessly joined him.

"Do you think he went down there?" she asked.

"I'm sure of it," Harry replied, starting down the stairs himself.

"Harry, wait," Hermione said, catching his arm. "You can't just go down there by yourself."

Harry shook his arm free. "We have to find Lupin," he said. "It's my fault he's down there."

"Yes," Hermione agreed. "We have to find him. Just wait a minute."

Even as she spoke, footsteps echoed down the hallway toward them. "Here, Harry," said Ron, pushing the Sword of Gryffindor into his hands. How Ron had known where it was hidden, Harry had no idea, but at this point, he hardly cared.

"Hi, Harry," said Fred. "We don't want to miss the fun!"

"I'm here too," announced Ginny, breathless from running behind her older brothers.

Harry stood, speechless. He felt at the same time pleased for his friends' support and angry that they would put themselves in danger when it was purely his own fault Professor Lupin had taken the bad potion.

"So let's go, then," said Ron with impatient excitement, pushing past Harry to enter the tunnel opening and clatter down the stairs. Harry followed, still in shock at the unexpected appearance of his friends. As he had in the Forest, he found that having one hand occupied with his cane meant he couldn't hold both the Sword and his wand at the same time. He wasn't sure how to solve this and ended up taking out his wand and holding it in his cane hand, ready to drop the cane if he needed to.

They quickly reached the bottom of the stairs and several people lit their wands. Harry looked away from the light but said nothing.

As they ran down the tunnels, Harry's heart began to pound with adrenaline. As if to confirm his fear they heard an approaching rumble from the tunnels ahead, not one set of heavy footfalls but many. The sound grew louder as they approached the place where the tunnels joined, a rumble that shook the floor like the oncoming approach of an underground train.

"What is it?" asked Ginny in a low voice.

"The werewolves are coming," said Hermione flatly. "They're going to attack Hogwarts. I guess Lupin has joined them after all."

Harry swallowed, switching the Sword to his right hand, holding the cane and wand awkwardly in his left. "Never," he said, but without conviction. "Lupin would never attack Hogwarts."

Hermione did not argue.

Harry pushed his way next to Ron in the narrow tunnel, the Sword held ready. Just as they reached the space where the tunnels joined in an "X," a snarling werewolf leapt from the far right tunnel, and Harry drove the point of the sword toward it as hard as he could. At the same time, another jumped out right behind the first and Ron yelled and threw a handful of powdered silver from his pocket toward its face. Harry found that his offensive surprise tactic had worked and the werewolf pinned on the blade of his sword went limp and heavy, falling to the floor and dragging him with it. Pulling the sword from its dead body was harder than stabbing it and he tugged, pushing the body with his foot while more snarling werewolves poured from the far doorway.

Ron, after blinding his adversary with the silver sugar, took off running down the adjacent left corridor, the one Harry had never yet used. Ginny had once told him it led out toward the grounds under the Whomping Willow, the sentient tree that had managed to mangle their flying car at the beginning of last year.

With the werewolf right behind him, Ron ran as hard as he could, his rapid footfalls disappearing town the twisting tunnel. Several of the additional werewolves followed, their pack instinct apparently overcoming their plan to move into Hogwarts itself. Harry finally tugged the Sword free of the dead werewolf and ran after the pack, flowed closely by the twins and the two girls.

The tunnel led upward with a slope of packed earth rather than stairs and Harry felt his feet slipping. Fred and George pushed past him and tumbled out into the clear air. At last Harry's feet found purchase and he scrambled out of the hole, dragging cane and sword awkwardly after him.

"Look out, Harry!" yelled George, but Harry, not knowing where to look, froze. The thought passed over him that this was it, he was going to be bitten, but before the attacking werewolf could reach him, a limb of the Whomping Willow caught the monster and flung it high into the air, its howl disappearing on the night breeze.

Harry clawed his way free of the tree before the grabbing branches could come after him next.

Once out in the clear air, he found the full moon shining brightly on an open space of grass. Blurred figures stood here and there, fighting furiously, and the confusion of snarling and shouting surrounded him until he did not know which way to turn first. A gray blur loomed up out of the night as it lurched toward him with a ferocious snarl. Harry's cane and sword were still behind him and he had no time to think or react. He closed his eyes and whipped his wand in front of him, dropping everything else.

"Immobulus!" He had simply shouted the first thing that came to mind. It slowed the beast for a moment, giving Harry time to reclaim the Sword of Gryffindor and swing it around to lop off the monster's head. He turned with distaste from the fallen body as Hermione screamed, "Another one! Coming from the Forest!"

Harry whirled but the distance to the edge of the looming wood was too far for him to make out what was happening there. He ran instead toward Hermione's voice.

As he ran, he suddenly heard the smashing of glass and smelled the rancid odor of Curiously Capable Cold Remedy. At the same time, George's voice yelled furiously, "Take that, you bloody git. Try to sniff me out now, you blind brute." The werewolf that was the first to get the silver sugar in its eyes now wailed piteously without its sense of smell and it stumbled off into the Forbidden Forest, crashing and bumping into trees and howling with misery as George turned his wand toward another of the attacking werewolves.

To Harry's left, he heard Hermione and Ginny furiously casting body-bind spells, laying werewolves on the grass before they could reach and bite them.

Ahead of Harry, he could now make out two shapes running at full speed out of the Forbidden Forest, both growling menacingly. He raised the Sword to defend himself from them, but instead of attacking Harry, the figures each leaped onto a nearby werewolf, snapping and snarling. Sirius, Harry thought in relief. But the other? Who or what was the other one?

He did not know nor did he take time to puzzle it out. Another snarling beast was making for him and Ron whose voice came unexpectedly out of the moonlight right next to Harry. They leapt forward toward the beast together, shouting. Ron cast an Immobulus toward the brute, but like Harry's, it only slowed it down momentarily. Another handful of silver sugar in its eyes slowed it further and just as it lunged onto them, Harry plunged the Sword toward its breast, felling the monster which lay in a crumpled heap on the grass at Harry's feet. Harry drew in a long breath.

"Well done, mate," said Ron with admiration in his voice.

"Thanks," said Harry, turning his attention again on the fighting around him.

The noise of the dog fight to his right had momentarily died down, and one of the shadows on the grass whimpered in pain.

All at once, the whole scene fell eerily silent. Bright moonlight shone on still, dark shapes, dotted here and there. Afar off in the woods, Harry could still hear the injured werewolf crashing blindly through the underbrush, the sound growing fainter and farther away. He could hear one of the twins, Fred or George, breathing hard a few yards away.

"Oh no!" cried Ginny, from the Whomping Willow which now held benignly still. She had obviously been checking the tunnels and now shouted, "More of them, heading into the castle!"

Fred and George both shouted and followed her back into the tunnel. Ron, who seemed to be limping, headed for the Willow too and Hermione ran after him.

"I'll be there in a second," called Harry and turned toward the scene of the recent dog fight. He had guessed that it was Sirius on the grass whimpering feebly, and his heart leapt into his throat with fear that his godfather would die.

As fast as he dared, he felt his way toward the tangle of dark shapes to his right. The first that his searching fingers encountered lay silent and still; its fur felt rough and coarse. He shuddered and turned to the next. This time he had more success. The long, soft dog's fur met his touch and a course tongue feebly caressed his hand.

"Sirius," he cried. "You're hurt. How bad is it?"

He didn't know if an injured animagus could transform. He supposed it took quite a bit of magical power to make the transformation, but he heard the dog give another low whine and then he was stroking his godfather's hair.

"Harry," said the weak voice. "Lupin…"

"It's all my fault," said Harry miserably. "I made the Wolfsbane potion wrong."

"No," said Sirius and moaned softly. "No, he was with me. He's…" the weak voice trailed off and Harry shook his head, confused.

"He joined with the other werewolves," said Harry in bewilderment.

"No," said Sirius with a painful groan, his voice growing weaker. "He came to find me. He fought. He's right over there…" Sirius's voice trailed off and his head flopped back in Harry's hand.

Above Harry, a window of the castle shattered and he could hear a roaring snarl. He looked from the castle to Sirius and back at the Whomping Willow. Torn as to what he should do, he wondered if he should try to find Lupin, to save Black, or to go into the castle again to defend its students and help his friends. He sat frozen with indecision for a long, heart-stopping moment. Finally, he stood and picked up the Sword of Gryffindor from the grass beside him, its blade black in the moonlight with dark blood.


	33. Chapter 33

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [WARNING] This chapter contains violence.
> 
> ******

After making up his mind, Harry tore back toward the Willow, flinging himself into the yawning mouth of the dark tunnel underneath. Leaving Sirius to lie there on the grass under the calm moon had been the hardest decision he'd ever made and he found his misty eyesight blurred by tears as he ran. He swiped at his eyes with the back of the hand that held the Sword of Gryffindor.

He didn't see another shadow treading lightly but swiftly behind him into the tunnel.

It seemed no time at all and Harry was stepping out of the One-eyed Witch's hump back and into the third-floor corridor. He listened intently for sounds of the battle, hoping against hope that none of his friends were injured or worse, bitten. He thought of Professor Lupin's long years of dealing with the pain, the torment, the prejudice of lycanthropy. He thought of the difficult and delicate Wolfsbane potion and the deadly Chameleon Tea Flowers and he took off running again, his sides heaving. Somehow he had to find them.

It did not take him long.

Below the first flight of stairs he heard Hermione cast a spell, followed by a bang and low growl of anger. Whatever she had used, it hadn't worked on the werewolf. Harry rounded a corner of the hallway and came upon the two, but he could not tell which shape was the werewolf and which was Hermione. He had the riddle quickly solved for him, however, when Hermione screamed. Harry lunged toward the werewolf, driving it with the Sword back and away from his friend.

One cane technique Lupin had taught him was called "shorelining." Harry used it now with his left hand along the balustrade toward the moving staircase. Keeping the snarling werewolf back away from his body with the sharp point of the Sword, he drove it backward and then backward again, feeling for the edge with his cane, praying the stairs were where he hoped that they would be.

The cane tapped downward, far downward. Harry lunged forward with both sword and fists and the werewolf toppled backward over the side where the moving staircase might have been had it been locked in place at that moment. The scream of the werewolf as it fell to its doom would haunt Harry in his dreams for afterward, but right at that moment, he merely stood on the blank edge, panting.

"Harry," shuddered Hermione, moving to stand beside him and peering over the edge of the balustrade. "Let's go find the others."

Together they ran down the hallway, watching and listening. At one point they looked down a set of stairs to find Ron at the bottom pelting a werewolf, who was trapped in the trick sixth step, with not only curses but enchanted chess pieces. Harry laughed grimly as Hermione sketched briefly what was happening. The monster howled with rage as the chess pieces bit it on the nose and ears but it was powerless to free itself from its trap.

Hermione pulled Harry onward and without thinking he took her elbow, letting her guidance double his own speed. They found Fred and George standing side-by-side battling a single, large brute with a low, resonant snarl that very nearly shook the floor. It was advancing upon them with crazed bloodlust but Harry skewered it with his blade before it had a chance to realize he was there. He realized immediately that he had missed killing it and it turned on him with a howl of rage.

It was close to him, too close to use the Sword for another blow. He swung his cane at its head, knocking it briefly off balance, its warm blood spilling against his right hand as he withdrew the Sword from its body. From his pocket, he pulled the bubble magnifier and swung at the brute's head again just as it lunged for him. He connected strongly with its forehead, knocking it senseless. For a long moment everything seemed a blur of teeth and hair and blood as it fell and he plunged his blade again into its body. It lay in a tangled heap at his feet, dead.

He stood over it for a moment with his hands on his knees, breathing hard. Fred clapped him on the back, saying words that must have been congratulatory, but to Harry's blurred, tired brain sounded like just so much noise. His knees wobbled as he bent to find the magnifier again. His groping fingers could not find it but Hermione stooped and retrieved it, slipping it into his hand, its edge sharp and chipped where it had hit the flagstone floor. He thrust it again into his left pocket.

Fred and George had already raced on to find more of the monsters who had infiltrated the castle, bound to find and bite as many unsuspecting students as they could. Harry absently wiped the sticky wolf's blood from his hand on the side of his robes, his hand shaking.

Hermione turned to face him. "Are you okay, Harry?" she asked, her voice full of concern.

His eyes closed, Harry straightened again. "Yeah," he said with a long, deep, shuddering breath. "Come on, then, we have work to do."

Grateful for Hermione's guiding arm, he followed her again through the halls. He had no idea how many werewolves had attacked the castle. It seemed they had already killed so many. He wondered where Ginny was.

"Oh no, Harry!" Hermione said, "The portrait hole! The Fat Lady has been ripped to shreds!"

At the same moment they heard a growling from their left and above, the opposite direction from the portrait hole and Gryffindor Tower filled with terrified unsuspecting students. Which way should he go? Should he help Hermione battle the monsters that had somehow made it past the protective spells guarding Gryffindor Tower or should he face the unknown attacker that rapidly approached them from the floor above?

"You go," said Harry, pushing Hermione toward the portrait hole and turning to the left himself. Drawing another deep breath he slowly climbed the stairs toward the growling, listening, trying desperately to formulate a plan to fight an attacker he could not see.

Time seemed to slow. Harry's head began to spin and he clutched at the railing of the stairs. A growl, soft as a purr, drew steadily nearer. Harry reached the top of the stairs and looked at the corridor ahead of him. Instead of the blurred shape of another werewolf that he expected to see, he saw the corridor receding into darkness. Cold crept toward him and he shivered. This was no werewolf. This was something else, something that had used the confusion of the werewolves' attack to enter the castle, to find its prey: him. This was something darker, and much more ominous even than the menacing werewolves.

Suddenly he knew what was before him. He'd heard the same low, foreboding growl in the Forbidden Forest. Hermione had described the shape as that of a black wolf, but Harry knew now that it was no wolf. He held the sword out toward the blackness, taking a step forward and another step.

Green light danced in front of Harry's eyes and he remembered the quidditch game, the formless, shapeless mass of darkness that had surrounded him and clawed at him when he flew through the dementors. He also remembered Hermione's stories of the Grim and the legend of Gryffindor and the Grim, of killing the Grim with the silver Sword that Harry now held in his hand. Was this a Grim? A dementor? Both?

The growling grew louder, moving from the thing's throat up toward its teeth as it readied itself for the attack. Harry shivered, peering into the dark nothingness, a scream echoing in his head, unable to get out. A snarl shivered the warning of a spring, an attack.

Harry's cane clattered to the floor.

"Expecto Patronum!" Harry yelled and cast his wand desperately forward. Bright silver erupted from his wand and the stag that galloped down the hallway scattered the shards of darkness. The growling ceased. Harry crumpled to the floor.

[break]

He awoke alone, lying on the cold stone of the floor in an upstairs hallway.

He listened. Silence.

Rising shakily to his feet, Harry felt for a wall for a minute and leaned, waiting for the swirling dizziness to pass. He still heard nothing. Was he deaf now?

His cane lay on the floor near him, long and thin and shining white. He picked it up. It clattered and he smiled ruefully to himself. He could hear, at least.

He needed to find out where he was and he needed to find his friends, to make sure they were okay. He moved along the corridor and found a set of stairs. Then another corridor and a turn. Aah, he knew where he was now. Gryffindor Tower was near and to his right. Another staircase.

He touched the portrait of the Fat Lady. Its frame felt rough with clawed scars and Harry shuddered. It hung haphazardly from one corner and he pushed it aside to enter the portrait hole where he was accosted by a tearful Hermione whose hug nearly suffocated him.

"Harry!" she sobbed into his shoulder. "You're all right! We were so worried."

"Hermione," he said in relief. "Where are the others?"

"We're here," chorused the Weasley twins simultaneously.

"Ron's here too," said Hermione, "but Ginny's in the hospital wing."

"Is she…" Harry couldn't bring himself to ask if she had been bitten.

"No, she wasn't bitten," said Ron from across the room. "Her arm was broken."

Harry sighed in relief.

"How did you…?" Harry began, wondering about the slashed portrait hole, the students in Gryffindor Tower.

"There was one in here, yeah," said Hermione. "Ron found me right after you left and we came in together."

Ron joined in the tale. "Hermione was brilliant. It was going after a couple of first-year girls. Hermione put up a shield around them and distracted the brute, getting it to come after us instead. I tell you, I didn't like that much!"

Hermione laughed. "Ron wasn't so bad himself. He set off a pack of Exploding Snap cards in its face and that gave me a moment…"

Ron broke in. "She made a Portkey out of her scarf. I don't know how she did it so fast…"

"I had it ready already," she explained, "but I threw it at the werewolf and it disappeared. "I'm not exactly sure where I sent it but it's either on a rock in the middle of the ocean or on the South Pole."

Harry laughed through his exhaustion, collapsing into one of the squashy armchairs.

"Harry, where did you go?" asked Hermione, as if just remembering.

"There was something inside the castle," he began slowly. "Something like a dementor. You saw it Hermione, that night in the Forbidden Forest."

"The black wolf?" she asked with a frown in her question.

"Yeah, but it's not a real wolf," Harry said, groping for an explanation. "I cast a Patronus at it…"

"You cast a Patronus?" asked Ron in disbelief.

"Yeah, Lupin's been teaching me," said Harry. "It left then, but I'm not sure what it was."

"Maybe you could ask him," said Hermione, but this drove Harry again to his feet.

"Professor Lupin! Sirius!" he cried in dismay.

"Harry, what is it?" cried Ron, limping after Harry, who was already climbing through the unguarded portrait hole.

"Sirius is hurt," Harry flung back over his shoulder as he ran toward the One-eyed Witch.

Without looking back, Harry led his friends down the corridors, up the stairs and at last through the tunnels until they stood together in the moonlight next to the Whomping Willow. For a long minute, no one spoke. Harry lunged forward, but Hermione caught his arm, holding him back.

"Harry," she said with a catch in her voice, "he's gone. Sirius is gone."

"No!" shouted Harry, falling to his knees on the grass.


	34. Chapter 34

"Not dead, Harry," shouted Hermione at him, though her voice seemed to come from far away. "Gone, as in not there. He's not there."

Harry looked up at her, uncomprehending.

"He's not there?" he asked in perplexity. "How could he not be there. He could not have gone anywhere. He was too hurt."

"I don't know," said Hermione, kneeling beside him. Ron stood behind them as Fred and George piled out of the tunnel doorway.

"I-I-Is Professor Lupin there?" asked Harry with a quaver in his voice.

"If he is, I can't tell which one is him," said Ron and they were still for a moment, looking at the battlefield of still bodies lying in the still moonlight. Harry sighed and got to his feet. Where was Sirius and how had he gotten there? Harry thought of the still, limp body he had left not an hour before on the grass. He should not have left him. Had someone found him and carried him off? Was it friend or foe?

"Come on, Harry," said Hermione, who had also risen to her feet.

Numbly, Harry turned and followed her into the passageway under the tree. He suddenly felt weary again, ancient and spent and exhausted. Stumbling through the tunnel, he felt Hermione's elbow brush the back of his hand and he took it, allowing her to guide him again.

Professor McGonagall was waiting for them when they got back to Gryffindor Tower. Her shock at the ferocious werewolf attack rolled over Harry like a wave as she demanded to know what had happened to the castle that had been left in her care by an absent Dumbledore.

Harry did his best to explain.

"Professor Lupin took the wrong potion," he began, but the unexpected voice of Professor Snape, who Harry had not realized was in the room, stopped him.

"Foolish boy," snarled Snape. "I would not have given Lupin your potion if his life depended upon it, particularly after I found the remains of your Chameleon Tea Flowers in the bin. Don't you know those render any potion impotent?"

Harry's shoulders sagged with relief. He should have known that Professor Snape would not have been so careless as to use an untested potion and that he was smart enough to notice the Tea Flowers and guess to what use they had been put. For once he did not even mind Snape's nasty tone.

"Oh, then Lupin is all right?" he asked hopefully.

"He would have been, had you meddlesome Gryffindors left him alone," replied Snape icily. Professor McGonagall cleared her throat and Snape retreated into a corner in silence, wrapping his heavy cloak around him like the sheltering wings of a great, black moth.

"So you went to his room," she said as if she was forcing herself to remain patient and calm. "I warned Dumbledore that it would not be sufficient to keep him safe during his, err, spells. What happened after that?"

"Well, err, Malfoy followed us," said Harry and Hermione interrupted him.

"And that little weasel pushed me down and opened the door!" Her voice rose with anger at the remembrance. Snape shifted and Harry could almost see his frown deepening.

"Anyway, Lupin came tearing out of the room and we followed him," continued Harry and stopped short. Now that he thought about it, he should have noticed at the time that Lupin wasn't mad; he hadn't turned to attack them but rather had run down the hall. Harry shook his head in confusion trying unsuccessfully to sort out what had really happened.

"Perhaps he'd gotten wind of the werewolf attack," said Professor McGonagall thoughtfully and then the pieces dropped into place in Harry's mind.

"Of course!" said Harry. 

Lupin wasn't mad at all. Somehow he had found out about the werewolves' plan to attack the castle that night and he'd needed to escape his monthly prison to go get help. Was it Sirius he'd gone to? Had he run into the Forbidden Forest?

"So we followed him…" Harry said, hoping that she would not ask about the Marauder's Map and the secret tunnels out of Hogwarts. "And we ran into all the werewolves," he finished.

"You ran a terrible risk, fighting a pack of werewolves," said Professor McGonagall with a shiver.

"We didn't mean to," said Harry. "We didn't know they were coming. We just wanted to find Professor Lupin."

"How in the world did you manage to fight them?" asked Professor McGonagall curiously.

"I had this," said Harry, holding up the Sword of Gryffindor. He realized it was still covered with drying blood and he began absently wiping it on his robe as he spoke. "I got one right away with it. Then Ron led the rest out under the Whomping Willow…"

"Bloody well thought I was a goner, too," put in Ron.

Fred broke in. "Hermione figured out that a body-bind spell worked on them and Ron kept tossing silver sugar into their eyes."

"Silver sugar?" asked Professor McGonagall. "A creative use of your misdeeds in my class, I see." Her voice held a wry smile.

"Err, yeah," agreed Ron, shifting on the back of the chair where he perched.

George continued, "Harry skewered another one and the Whomping Willow picked off another. I have to say that yours truly had a hand in sending a couple off with a well-placed Risus Silensias spell."

Harry hadn't known about this. "What does that do?" he asked.

"Silent unstoppable laughter," said George smugly. "It means they can't move for as long as they keep laughing. Do it enough times and they end up suffocating."

Hermione made a noise of distaste.

Harry added, "Sirius and something else came out of the Forest and started attacking…"

He stopped suddenly, realizing that he wasn't supposed to know about Sirius and that Professor McGonagall certainly wouldn't. To his surprise, she did not react to his slip.

"Hopefully Mr. Black will come out of hiding now," was all she said.

Harry glanced toward the tall, dark shape of Professor Snape, standing quietly in the corner, still listening. He wished he could read his face, but it remained invisible and Snape said nothing.

Hermione broke into the story. "Harry, the something else was another werewolf, coming out of the Forbidden Forest. It attacked and I saw two werewolves battling one another." She shivered at the memory. "I think it was Professor Lupin."

"What happened to him?" asked Harry.

"I'm not sure. When we left, all the werewolves I saw were lying on the ground," she replied slowly.

Harry said nothing for a few moments.

Fred took up the story again. "More werewolves that hadn't followed us out onto the lawn were inside the castle, heading for the four dormitories. We caught two up by Ravenclaw Tower in a homemade swamp."

Professor McGonagall made a noise in her throat at this and Harry remembered the trouble she'd had at the beginning of the year with one of their swamps in a third-floor bathroom. In spite of himself, he grinned.

"Ginny, the little imp, took out one down by the kitchens and Hufflepuff House. I think one of the House Elves helped her but I'm not sure. She got pretty roughed up and her arm was broken but she said she hadn't been bitten," said Fred.

"I think you caught the one that was supposed to go to Slytherin," said Hermione to Harry. "Fred and George had it backed into a corner but it was a mean, big brute."

"How you all came through without being bitten is a wonder," said Professor McGonagall, crisply as their tale began to peter off. "Now we'll have to get another portrait to guard the entrance, here, while the Fat Lady is being repaired."

This was done and they sat around talking in the common room about the battle and the part each had played. At last, late into the night, Harry crawled into bed, too tired even to pull his blood-stained robes off.


	35. Chapter 35

Harry slept late into the morning missing his Monday classes and when he finally dragged himself out of bed, it was nearly lunchtime. The dorm was empty; even Ron who liked to sleep late had apparently already risen, so Harry got ready as quickly as he could, squinting against the spring sunshine that streamed in his dormitory window.

He got to the Great Hall just as the other students were streaming in to take their places at the long house tables for lunch. The Great Hall glowed with sunshine as well, but Harry had learned to look away and use his ears and cane to navigate to his house table. With little trouble, he found Ron and Hermione who greeted him with teasing for sleeping so late.

"Here," said Hermione, shoving a piece of stiff paper into his hand. "Dobby gave me this to give to you."

"What is it?" asked Harry.

"I have no idea. I can't read it," replied Hermione, turning to her plate of steak and kidney pie.

Harry unfolded the paper to find a short note in Braille. How had someone written him a Braille note? He had thought Lupin was the only one who knew it. He ran his fingers slowly but steadily over the dotted figures, absurdly pleased as his ability to read something that Hermione could not.

Your presence is requested in my office directly after lunch. Dumbledore.

Harry felt more confused than ever. He reread it just to be sure, but there was no hint as to how Professor Dumbledore had written a note in Braille. Harry wondered if he was going to be expelled for letting Professor Lupin out of his secret room. His stomach twisted and he could hardly swallow his food.

"What's it say?" Hermione asked, leaning toward him and Harry grinned. Her curiosity would not be held off for long. He reread the note a third time, this time aloud.

"I wonder what he wants?" said Ron. "At least he's back again. He's at the Head Table now, looking cool as a fish."

Harry shrugged and tried to pretend to eat. At long last, the meal was finished and students headed out in groups of three or four to go to their afternoon classes. With a heavy heart, Harry made his way toward the Headmaster's office. The corridors flowed with rivers of students and Harry walked slowly, trying to avoid the shadowy shapes and kept his cane close so he didn't inadvertently trip anyone. As he went the memory of the little bedroom at Privet Drive rose before him and his stomach did flip flops.

Too soon he reached the stone gargoyle. The ascending twisting staircase seemed to whisk him too quickly toward the tall, forbidding doors and he felt very small as he knocked. A voice inside bade him enter.

When he pushed the doors open, he was greeted by a squawk from Fawkes, the Phoenix, and he could see several people sitting here and there, most of whom rose as he entered.

"Hello, Harry," said a gentle voice from one of the still-seated figures.

"Sirius!" Harry cried with delight and rushed toward the voice. "You're all right!"

"Whoa," laughed his godfather, rising to meet Harry's hug, his hand on the back of the chair for support. "Be kind to an old man."

"You're not old," laughed Harry in turn, hugging his godfather tightly, but releasing him at hearing a soft grunt of pain.

"Are you hurt?" Harry asked.

"I was hurt badly by Greyback himself," replied Black. "If Remus hadn't been there…" he gestured to his right.

"Hello, Harry," said Professor Lupin with a tired smile in his voice.

"Professor," said Harry in delight, his hand still on Black's arm. "Professor, what happened? I am so sorry I…"

"Sit down, Harry," said Professor Dumbledore's calm voice from behind his desk. "We'll tell you the whole tale."

Beside him, Black sank back into his seat with a sharp intake of breath. Harry felt for a nearby chair and to his relief found one almost immediately. Professor Lupin sat as well.

Lupin began. "I took the Wolfsbane potion as usual," he said and Harry broke in.

"It was the right one? I was so afraid…" he said breathlessly.

"It was the same one I always take," said Lupin. "Nasty stuff it is too. But out the window of my little room I can see the Shrieking Shack."

"So you did know," said Harry, but stopped himself.

"I saw them coming in the moonlight. More and more came and I knew Greyback had summoned them." Lupin shuddered at the name. "I knew I had to get out, to stop them somehow. I tried to break down the door but the enchantments were too strong."

Black added quietly, "If you hadn't opened the door, Harry, who knows what might have happened."

Harry looked up in surprise. "You mean I'm not in trouble?"

Dumbledore chuckled softly. "Quite the contrary, Harry. Your bravery is to be commended. Unfortunately, I arrived too late from the Ministry to be of assistance, early this morning as a matter of fact."

"I went as fast as I could to find Sirius," continued Lupin. "As an animagus, he had the most chance of successfully helping me stop Greyback's pack."

"We were too late," said Black regretfully. "By the time we got there you and your friends had already begun fighting them."

"I counted at least eight on the lawn," said Lupin to Dumbledore, "and who knows how many more got inside the castle."

"I fought Greyback," said Sirius, "and Remus killed Vrikodare from Albania. I've seen him only once before; he is a fierce fighter. If Remus hadn't helped me fight Greyback, he would have finished me. As it was I was badly wounded and Remus had lost consciousness. Harry found me and seemed to think Lupin had been killed."

Harry quickly explained his fear that Lupin had taken the Wolfsbane potion he had brewed and Lupin chuckled ruefully.

"Glad that wasn't the case, Harry," he said.

"Then I left to go back into the castle," said Harry, an unspoken question in his voice. What had happened after that?

"Remus came to shortly after and took me into the Forest to the centaurs," Black explained. "They have great healers among their number and they took pity on me. One of them owed me a favor," said Black vaguely and did not elaborate. "Now I feel old and sore, but I'll be all right after a bit."

"And Lupin?" asked Harry. "You're, err, yourself again so quickly?" 

"Yes, Harry, although as usual, I feel exhausted," smiled Lupin.

"So you sent the note!" Harry exclaimed, the mystery of the Braille note suddenly clear to him.

"Remus kindly transcribed it for me," put in Dumbledore.

"And you're here, in the castle," said Harry, turning to Black, suddenly aware that Black, a convicted prisoner, and Dumbledore, the head of the Wizengamot, sat together in the same room.

Black pulled from his inside pocket a piece of folded parchment.

"I hold here in my hand," he said slowly, with wonder in his voice, "a full pardon from the Ministry of Magic and an apology for my years of unnecessary incarceration." His voice held an edge of bitterness as he spoke the last words.

Harry sat still and rigid on his chair, looking at the unreadable faces of Black and Dumbledore. His mouth had gone suddenly dry. One question swirled in his mind and he could not bring himself to ask it. Dumbledore seemed to read his thoughts.

"Harry," said Dumbledore with a glad smile in his voice, "We have called you up here to ask you if you would like Sirius Black to apply for guardianship of you until your seventeenth birthday. Or if you prefer, you may remain where you are living with your uncle and aunt."

Harry let out the breath he had not been aware he was holding.

"I would like that very much," he said in a rush. "Err, I mean I would love to be a guardian of Sirius. Err, I mean…"

The others laughed at the words Harry could not untangle.

"Excellent," said Professor Dumbledore, rustling a parchment on the desktop. "I will send a letter to the Ministry to that effect immediately." His quill began scratching as he wrote. "Madame Pomfrey has informed me of your need to have a procedure done at St. Mungo's as soon as possible to prevent deterioration of your vision. Your godfather will accompany you as he requires additional treatment from the wounds he received from the werewolves. Although he was in his animagus form, the venom from a werewolf can be quite debilitating. You will then take up residence with your godfather at… you'll return to your family's home?"

"Yes," said Sirius simply.

"You, well, you want me to come live with you?" asked Harry uncertainly.

"Of course, Harry!" said Black sincerely and Harry grinned. "As long as you're not too much trouble. And we might even ask old Remus to join us over the summer so you can continue your lessons."

"Lessons in summer," groaned Harry and both men laughed.

Harry could not stop himself grinning from ear to ear. To live with his godfather, the man who had been his parents' best friend was almost too good to believe. Lupin too! He could keep learning Braille and improve his cane work and other skills so his next year at Hogwarts would be much better than this one had been. He hoped the procedure at St. Mungo's would be successful in saving the little that was left of his sight but he found at this moment he didn't care as much as he thought he would. He thought back to the day last July when his life changed forever and another question suddenly popped into his mind. "How did you send Dobby to rescue me last summer?" he asked Black.

"I had just escaped from Azkaban," began Black with a shiver at the thought of his time in the wizards' prison. "While I was there my cousin, Bellatrix, kept saying over and over that the Dark Lord could come back but I thought it was only her mad ravings. We were all mad in there."

Black stopped for a moment and silence filled the office, broken only by the rustling of Fawkes as he shifted on his perch.

Black drew a deep breath and continued. "She'd had a visitor, you see. No one ever visited Azkaban, ever, but she had one. I realized later it was Greyback and that he was not afraid of the dementors. Bella told him to find and kill you, not to turn you but to kill you, to use the killing curse. I don't know how she knew where to find you that day or how to do it but she wanted to avenge the Dark Lord and speed his return. Greyback in return for this service, I realize now, was given secret information on accessing Hogwarts through the hidden tunnels. I can only guess she knew this from association with Pettigrew, but Greyback was delighted. To have access to hundreds of young witches and wizards would fulfill his lifelong ambition of building a werewolf army."

Black stopped again.

"How did you hear all of this?" asked Dumbledore.

"I would remain a dog in Azkaban most of the time to avoid the madness of the dementors," said Black briefly. "As a dog, I stayed close to my cousin, although it was a trying task." He spoke slowly as if the words were painful to speak. "After I escaped and Remus found me and hid me, I sent the elf to protect Harry. He was almost too late."

Harry thought of Dobby's tears of remorse. He thought, too, of what would have happened if Dobby had not gotten there when he did. He shivered.

"Dobby was with you?" Harry asked Lupin in confusion.

"Yes," smiled Lupin. "Professor Dumbledore had assigned him the task of helping me to get ready to come to Hogwarts. After I found Sirius and we began working with the Aurors, Feliss Eliot in particular, to locate Pettigrew, he proved to be of inestimable value to our work."

Harry smiled. He imagined Dobby, working for the Aurors, so pleased to be of use and to be a free agent.

"So it was Greyback who attacked me last summer?" asked Harry with another shiver.

"Yes, and I imagine he was quite angry at his failure to kill you, Harry," chuckled Lupin darkly. "Unfortunately he had already been given the information about Hogwarts, he was so certain he would succeed. If you had not been blinded and had ventured out from the Dursley's house at all following that, he no doubt would have tried again."

Harry thought of the muggle hospital and also of the Hogwarts express. How vulnerable he had been and had not even realized it.

"Wait!" Harry said suddenly. "He did try again." He described the dementor-like dog that had stalked him through the halls of Hogwarts, the Forbidden Forest, and had attacked during the werewolf fight.

"That sounds like a Hound of Hell," said Dumbledore soberly. "A kin of Hagrid's pet, Fluffy, a Hell-Hound is somewhat in form like a dementor and can be conjured using Dark Magic to do its conjurer's bidding. In this case, it was sent to attack you and kill you, to finish what he failed to do himself. A Hell-Hound can be mistaken for a Grim," he added as an afterthought.

"How did you escape it, Harry?" asked Sirius in amazement.

"I cast a Patronus at it," Harry said. Sirius and Lupin both cried out at once.

"You succeeded with your Patronus!" said Lupin with delight.

"That's a difficult piece of magic," said Sirius. "The werewolves would not have been expecting you to be able to do that."

"The news that you had been blinded was a boon to their cause, I have no doubt," said Professor Dumbledore sagely. "But Harry, I have a feeling you have surprised them greatly now."

Harry laughed. He suddenly realized he had surprised himself as well.

"Who would have thought a blind kid could do all that, yeah?" laughed Lupin delightedly at his student.

"Yeah," said Harry slowly, his mind flashing back over the long days of tripping over stairs and getting lost in the hallways, the struggles to read and the endless lessons with Lupin, walking and memorizing the halls or poring over Braille dots. He thought of the long, lonely nights when dark despairing thoughts had overtaken him and he was sure he could never do anything worthwhile again. With a small smile, he remembered the potion-making in the dungeon classroom and the discovery that he could indeed accomplish the task himself. His smile faded again, remembering the agony of tears in the darkened classroom the day he had finally broken, and the quiet he'd felt after the storm.

Professor Lupin's words that day came back to him and he realized that Lupin was right. He may be blind, which was pretty much a royal pain, but he was still himself; he still had purpose; he still had the ability to live a full, rich, beautiful meaningful life. He still had a destiny.

THE END (almost!)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ******
> 
> Author's Note: I was going to end it here but I think I might write one more ending chapter just to find out how Harry does. I have really enjoyed writing this story and thanks for coming along for the ride! I'd really appreciate a review if you read all the way through to tell me what you thought. Thanks!
> 
> Please Read and Review! Thanks!


	36. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again to all who reviewed and encouraged me or gave me ideas. This has been great fun to write and definitely the biggest project I have ever finished.  
******

Harry Potter

Room 465, Floor 6

St. Mungo's

Dear Harry,

Thanks for the owl you sent last week. Good to hear that your eyes are going to stay they way they are, at least for a while. I was worried about that. Also glad to hear the procedure wasn't too painful. How is Sirius doing? You said he was there but you didn't say if he was okay.

Wow, mate, thanks for the Nimbus 2000! Now I can outfly Fred and George. They aren't going to like that much. I even talked Hermione into playing with us, just like over Christmas. Do you think we can make her into a quidditch fan? Ginny played Seeker against Hufflepuff but Ravenclaw still won the cup. Oh well, there's always next year, right?

Speaking of quidditch, Mum and Dad have invited you and Hermione to come with us to the World Cup next summer. Won't that be brilliant?

So the term ended and guess what? Hermione was using a Time Turner! That's how she took so many classes. I found out in kind of a weird way but I'll tell you that story another time. It's too long to write out now. Especially since Professor Lupin said he'd put this in Braille for me and I don't want it to be too long. We're going out on the Hogwarts Express tomorrow and I can't believe the year is over already. We don't know yet who won the House Cup. I think it will be Ravenclaw too. They're going to be impossible to live with next year if they really win both.

Send me an owl and let me know when you'll be out of hospital. I think it's brilliant you'll be living with Sirius instead of those awful muggles. And you're so lucky that you got to miss the end of classes. Snape's been unbearable. Hope Lupin doesn't mind translating that.

Anyway, see you soon.

Yours,

Ron Weasley

P.S. Hagrid says hi.

THE END

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *******  
Author's Note: To those delightful reviewers who have begged for a sequel: you may now rest easy. I have begun work on another new adventure that picks up where this one left off. Check on my page for the link to Harry Potter and the Blind Seer of Durmstrang.

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Because of your lovely encouraging reviews, I have been writing a sequel on ffnet (same username). I still love reviews on this story as well, though, so if you read a part you particularly enjoyed, feel free to write a review and tell me.


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